


The Potter Files

by nqdonne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: merry_smutmas, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Mystery, Pastiche, Rimming, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Wall Sex, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nqdonne/pseuds/nqdonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Private investigator, wizard, thorn in many people's sides. Harry Potter's a jack of all trades. A Dresden Files pastiche.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Potter Files

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Merry Smutmas 2007. Harry/Teddy and Harry/Zacharius are both minor; primary pairing is Harry/Draco.
> 
> This is a weird AU amalgamation of post-DH HP canon and _The Dresden Files_ (inspired by the TV show more than the books), where I've picked and chosen the elements of HP to keep/change, the most obvious being that Malfoy = Muggle/Murphy. You don't have to know _The Dresden Files_ to follow, though those who do should recognise quite a few things :D 
> 
> See notes at the end for spoilery trigger warnings.

The sign on the door says _Harry Potter, Wizard_ , but you'd be amazed how few people actually believe it. I mean, they appreciate my help, but I think most of them consider me somewhere between a loony and an eccentric who happens to be a half-decent private investigator. A bloody good private investigator, if I do say so myself. Anyway, I prefer the sceptics to those who know for a fact that I'm a wizard, since the wizarding world has held little interest for me since I vanquished Voldemort. And there are many of my sort who don't like me very much and, well, Avada Kedavra is a bit more final than a gunshot wound.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. So, yes, I'm Harry Potter and I am, in fact, a wizard. And a private investigator. And thorn in many a person's side. 

I'm based in London, not out of an overwhelming love for the city, but more because shit happens here more often than not, and I need to be where there's work. Or I like to be where there's work. And there's lots of it. Vampires, rogue Dementors, succubae, incubi and all manner of dark wizards messing around with the Muggle (non-magic) world. That's where I come in – the City of London police department, or just The Met, whether they like it or not, come to me to help them sort the weird cases they can't wrap their heads around. I hand them solutions and they don't ask any questions – they wouldn't believe me if I told them, and if they find out, I'm obligated to use a Memory Charm on them anyway. Ministry rules.

My main contact – or the only person who actually likes using me – is DI Draco Malfoy. If I didn't know any better, with a name like that, I'd say he was a wizard, but being generally clueless about the magical world, even the numerous times it's been right in front of him, I'd say he's just an unfortunate man who had two inconsiderate hippies for parents. He's kind of a prat, actually, the kind of cop who's desperate to prove himself (my money's on issues with the father), and therefore treats everyone like he knows more than they do. We argue a lot.

He's also the closest thing I have to a steady relationship, though in the most platonic sense of the word. Malfoy's as straight as the day is long, or some other appropriate metaphor, and I'm gayer than, well, I'm just gay, really. Though I suppose Malfoy is mostly straight in theory – in the two years we've worked together, I have never once seen him go out with a woman. But he's the type who talks about sex so much he's either very straight or very gay. I'm hoping for the latter. 

The bell over the front door jingles – What? It adds character! - I look up and see Malfoy stepping over the threshold. Either he's seen the light and realised he's gay and hopelessly attracted to me or there's a case to be solved. He shivers as my wards pass through him, not that he knows they're there, and sets me with a grim look. "I have a case for you."

No shagging just yet, then. I throw him an easy smile and nod. "What's have we got?"

"Body found on the Heath. Cause of death is suspicious."

"Suspicious how…?

"Well, I'm here, Potter, aren't I? It's the weird shit you seem to be so good at."

"So I think you're asking for my help…" I'm being coy, I know, but it's more fun when we banter. DI Malfoy's the type who always has a retort handy, and it keeps me young.

"Of course I am, you moron," he shoots back at me, rolling his eyes.

Isn't he sweet? I grin, ignoring the way he's shooting me daggers with his eyes. He knows I'm game – I like the income, and I can requisition five hundred quid a day for a bit of easy consulting. Most of the "weird stuff" is run-of-the-mill magic – I throw a Finite Incantatum here, cast a ward or two there and the case is solved. Malfoy furrows his brow and sets his mouth in a straight line that just makes me want to tackle him to the floor and stick my tongue down his throat, and we call it a day. It's our routine.

"Give me a second to collect my things," I answer him and leave him in the office/living room. I've left my wand in the back, where a small cauldron of Veritaserum is quietly simmering.

"You done flirting with Mister Malfoy then, Potter?" comes a snide voice from my side. I turn around and, of course, there's Snape, my not-so-friendly neighbourhood ghost. Bound to my service for eternity – some weird clause in his service to my former mentor Dumbledore – Snape is what I call the silent partner in this business. Since he doesn't technically exist, legally speaking, having been dead for a good fifteen years, he's not exactly on the lease, but he hangs around the office – and more often than I'd like, my flat - and helps me with any problems beyond my ken. Mostly he's handy with potions and runes. I don't actually _like_ him.

"We weren't flirting," I answer him, whilst fishing around for my wand. My Oyster card's around here somewhere, too. Can't Apparate – travel instantaneously via magic – when I'm with Malfoy.

"Of course, Mister Potter," he scoffs, and – hey – in all fairness, we both know that I was. He then casts an appraising eye over my Veritaserum. "It's burning, you imbecile."

"It's not bur-" I take another look at the cauldron and sure enough. "Oh, _fuck_." The bloody bastard sniggers as I scramble to extinguish the flames and save the potion. You know, even if he were corporeal I don't think he would help, and as it is, I think he enjoys every time I bung up a potion while he watches.

The problem with having a bitter, sarcastic ghost hanging around for all eternity is that, well, you have a bitter, sarcastic ghost hanging around for all eternity. Well, his eternity, anyway. When I die, presumably Snape will pass onto whomever I deem worthy. I plan on picking someone I really dislike. They'll love him.

But Snape's good at the things I'm not, namely potions, arithmancy and runes – which come up in my line of work more than they let on at Hogwarts. Had I known how many curses came in rune form, I would have signed up with Hermione, my over-achieving best friend from school. I only rely on Snape so much nowadays because every time I ask her, she starts going on about "impractical and ridiculous" subjects like Divination. True, it may have been a waste of time, but it also required very little effort on my part – ideal when I was thirteen. Now that I'm thirty-two, however, I'm regretting my lackadaisical approach to school.

Anyway, Snape's a convenient addition to the business, even if he complains more than anything. He can do this nifty trick where he absorbs the life energy from any object I give him, and morphs into the form of whomever it belonged to. Very handy in identifying John Does. And worth seeing the vexed expression on Snape's face when he turns into some decrepit old granny. Shame you can't capture ghosts on film.

"Listen, I'm going up to the Heath, as I'm sure you heard." Snape smirks – he likes to eavesdrop on just about everything. "I'll be back later."

"I'm overjoyed by the very thought of it," he intones joylessly. 

"Yes, I know you'll be counting the seconds. Just… don't do anything while I'm out. I know you get into my porn."

"But Mister Potter, you know I can't touch anything…"

"Shut up, Snape. I don't know how, I just know you do it." He smirks in response and I just _know_ what he's thinking. "Hey! Stop thinking about my mother." Smug bastard was in love with my mum. Long story. 

So Malfoy and I head up to the Heath, decidedly one of my least favourite places to find a body first thing in the morning. The colour's already draining from the grass and foliage as we move into fall, and the heavy, cold grey morning makes the park feel more like a graveyard than a recreational destination. I shiver in my light coat. I know it's not going to be just any case as soon as I see the body.

"Well, that's… so what's the official word on this one?" I wrinkle my nose at the smell of blood and guts.

"Animal attack. But I don't know any animal that can do that." 

Malfoy's right. This was no simple animal. Looks like a werewolf attack, specifically. Great. I hate dealing with them. Fenrir Greyback, stubborn bastard that he is, just doesn't seem to die, and every time I run into him, I'm cleaning up bodies. And of children more often than not. This one's no child though. A teenager – maybe sixteen? Close enough, then.

"Do you have any leads?"

"Other than the 'really big dog' theory, no. We've got his school mate over there, come to identify the body."

I glance over to where Malfoy is pointing and there he is. Teddy Lupin. Shit. Malfoy only just catches me start as I see him, but I pass it off as a reaction to the body. The less Malfoy knows about this, the better. I make my way across the muddy grass to where Teddy is sitting on a fallen tree branch.

"Potter, this is Theodore Lupin, the victim's roommate at school. They were in London for…"

"A concert," Teddy fills in hastily.

"Right, a concert. See if you can work your mumbo jumbo for me. I need to go deal with Smith. Bastard's trying to move in on my case."

Malfoy moves back over to the body and I watch him face down a tall, aggressive blond bloke I've seen a few times before. I sit down beside Teddy and brace myself for this conversation. I haven't seen him in years, despite being the kid's godfather. I imagine he's not too pleased to see me, if his sour expression is anything to go by. I deserve it. His mother and father died during the war, and he was raised by his grandmother. I used to check in all the time, but now with him at school and me working cases down in London… well, we've drifted apart.

"Teddy."

"Harry." His response is terse, with a hint of wobbling – he's not looking at me, but at the broken body of his friend.

"I… I'm sorry about your friend. It's werewolves, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I- I shouldn't have let him come down here with me. I should have come by myself."

"Come?... Were you meeting someone, Teddy?" I place what is meant to be a reassuring hand on his arm, but he shakes me off violently.

"Fuck off, Harry. You've no right to be here. Why _are_ you here? You don't work for the Ministry or anything. Not anymore."

Ouch. It's a not-so-nice reminder of my crash and burn career as an Auror. Teddy's too young to understand my disillusionment with the corrupt systems at the Ministry, but clearly old enough to deliver his stinging remark. 

"I consult. With him." I angle my head in Malfoy's direction. "They seem to think your friend was a Muggle. He wasn't, obviously."

"Obviously," Teddy spits out, jerking himself up and stalking away from me. "I don't want to talk to you," he calls out as he goes. Okay, so he's definitely upset with me. And he came down to London to meet with someone, likely a werewolf, and that someone possibly killed his friend. But why on earth would Teddy be mixing with werewolves? 

Teddy's father, Remus Lupin, was one of my father's best friends. After he died, well, Lupin didn't have much to do with my upbringing, either, and I suppose out of guilt or a keen sense of irony, decided to make me Teddy's godfather when he was born. Because making a seventeen-year-old godfather to an infant when both you and your wife are fighting in a war is a grand idea. They both died, Teddy went to live with his mother's mother and I ended up being as shit a guardian to him as his father was to me.

Though I suppose you have to give Remus a break. He was, after all, a werewolf, and that doesn't exactly make him ideal guardian material. But Teddy, fortunately, did not inherit his father's curse, and as far as I know has never had any dealings with the werewolf population, so why get embroiled in this now? He's only...– I do the maths – fifteen? Certainly not old enough to make a trip down to London by himself during term time. Or to be messing around with dark creatures.

I pull myself up from sitting and amble over to Malfoy, who's still in heated conversation with the fit detective bloke. I catch the tail-end of their conversation, taking amusement from their spirited show of copper machismo.

"So get the fuck out of my murder investigation, Smith," Malfoy growls at him, trying to bring himself up to the other man's height, though this Smith has at least four inches on him.

"Detective Superintendent Clarke told me about this one personally, Malfoy. Can't help it if the man trusts me. But, fine, I'll leave you and your kook to your juvenile antics." He looks me up and down and – hello! – licks his lips appraisingly. I take a mental note to look him up the next time I'm feeling lonely. 

"Your witness has run off," I inform Malfoy glibly and the look he gives me in return says there's about to be another corpse getting dumped on the Heath.

"Good going, Malfoy," Smith sneers. "I'll leave you to it." As soon as his back turns and he's headed a good ways down the hill, Malfoy turns to me and lays a hard punch in my side.

"What the fuck, Potter! What do you _mean_ , the witness has run off?"

I shrug. "He doesn't want to talk to me. He's rather upset about his friend."

"That's all you got? 'He's upset about his friend'? Jesus fuck, Potter, you are _so_ not getting paid."

"Hey!" Malfoy stalks away from me. Like hell I'm not getting paid. I chase after him. "Wait. I can track him down… he just didn't want to talk right _now_. I mean, I can tell you that he and his friend most certainly weren't down here for a concert."

"Well, I need something better than that. Work your magic, or whatever you bloody call it, and tell me what the hell cut that boy up so badly. Meth addicts, construction machinery, hocus pocus – whatever. Just do what I pay you for."

Honestly I think he pays me so he can take his frustration out on somebody smaller than he is. Not that there's that much difference – I'm barely an inch shorter. But I guess working with the likes of Smith, who is not only a towering six foot four but built like a rugby player, you get to feeling a bit inferior. Malfoy's up for a big promotion to Detective Chief Inspector, the only thing standing in his way being Smith and his (admittedly more impressive) track record. Malfoy and I may have made the papers once or twice in our partnership together, but Smith's graced the covers of the UK's finest no less than six times in the last year. I've heard Malfoy mock the praising headlines so often that I've probably got the damn things memorised.

Anyway, I just smile at him and nod, and try to think of the best way to track Teddy down. Magical trace tracking spell is my first thought, but if he came down to meet a shifty party, he probably had himself well warded. Then again, he's only a fifth year. I notice a reddish-brown hair on the lapel of my jacket. Brilliant. Now that I've got a piece of him, I can manage a corporeal tracking spell, far more effective than merely tracking his magical signature. 

We part at the street, where one of Malfoy's PCs is waiting to drive him to the morgue. 

"Ring me when you've got something, Potter," he barks as he ducks down into the passenger seat of the sedan. I see him off with a friendly wave and head back to my office.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

"Back so soon, are we?" Snape asks, waiting for me in the living room-cum-office space – all the best private detectives live in their offices, you see. There's a kitchen in the back and a bedroom upstairs, so I can do all my working and playing in the same space. Though it unfortunately means that Snape is privy to all my home-based romantic entanglements. He's irritatingly voyeuristic. 

"Good news! We're dealing with your favourite creatures." I wait a beat as Snape glares in my direction. "Werewolves! Isn't that brilliant?" The joke's done its job, so I drop the cheerful tone. "It's Teddy Lupin. Not the victim, but he's a witness. Or he found the body. I don't know – I didn't ask."

"Astute as ever, Mister Potter."

I ignore the barb. "Anyway. Teddy's not so keen to talk to me, but he's going to have to. We need to track him down. I have…" – I pull the hair out of my pocket – "this bit of hair. So we'll do some crystal tracking stuff."

"It has a proper name, you know."

"Yeah, but I'm more a layman's terms kind of bloke."

"Plebeian," Snape mutters as I reach for the mortar and pestle. It doesn't take me too long to mix, pour and pound things, then with a dip of my wand, I have it.

He's… outside my flat.

I dash round to the front, pull open the front door and, yep, there he is, hand poised to knock and perplexed look on his face.

"Um, hi, Harry."

"Hi, Teddy. Come in?"

"Yeah…" He passes over the threshold reluctantly and eventually settles near the couch, but doesn't sit down.

I Summon a pair of tea mugs. "Tea?"

"Can I have something a bit harder?"

"Like coffee?"

"More like spirits."

"Yeah, Teddy, that's a no." 

"Why not?"

"You're fifteen."

"Wow, you remember."

Cheeky little… "Listen, Teddy. You're going to sit down, have a cup of Earl Grey and tell me what really happened." I flick the kettle on with my wand and urge him to sit down. He flops back into the cushions and groans.

"This is such a mess. I… I can't believe he's dead."

"Tell me what happened. Why were you in London during term time?"

Teddy peers at me nervously and then the resentment just melts away. "We went to a club. A… a gay club." My stomach does a little flip-flop but I don’t stop him. Now that he's let out the big secret, he starts rattling on, giving me the details I need to solve this. 

"I talked him into it; he wanted to go closer to school, but I was insistent about London… it's my fault he's dead!"

"No, no, Teddy, it's _not_. Don't be ridiculous." This time he accepts my soothing hand on his back. "Who did this? What happened?"

"I- I don't know! I started feeling ill and wanted to go back to the hotel – we checked in to some Muggle place because, you know my Gran, and I didn't want her to know we were skiving – but Alex didn't want to go, and I just… I left him! I left him and now he's dead and it's _my fault_!" He deflates, collapsing down and dropping his head into his hands. I feel his body shake and shudder; I know he's crying but, well, he's a teenage boy and I don't want to coddle him. Instead I just rub hopefully soothing circles on his lower back and Summon a box of tissues so they're at hand. He gladly accepts one as I pass it down to him, and he blows his nose noisily.

"Oh, how melodramatic," Snape's voice comes seemingly from out of nowhere and when I flip around, he's hovering behind me, expression snide.

"Fuck off, Snape," I hiss, snatching a coaster from the coffee table and throwing it at his head. It passes right through and clatters to the floor. A raised eyebrow tells me that Snape is unaffected by my show of frustration.

Teddy has popped up, eyes red-rimmed and nose running, and he narrows his eyes at my crotchety companion. "Who are you?" he says accusatorily.

"That is Snape," I say before Snape can say anything incendiary, specifically about Teddy's dad. "He used to teach at Hogwarts."

Teddy studies the sneering ghost. "But he's dead."

"Yes, he is," I concede. "And by a set of rather unfortunate cosmic circumstances, I'm stuck with him. He's an arsehole. Just ignore him."

"But he's standing right there."

Snape snorts. "As keen as his father was, this one."

"You knew my father?"

"Oh, yes, better than I'd like."

Teddy looks to me for an explanation. I give a weary sigh. "They went to school together, with my parents. And your father taught at Hogwarts for a time, while Snape was there."

Teddy's mouth forms a small 'o' of surprise. Before he can get any ideas that Snape was actually _friends_ with his father, I clarify.

"He got him fired."

Teddy's surprise turns to malice.

"Oh, please, Potter. I did not get him _fired_. He resigned." His smile is sickly sweet, the bastard.

"Because you let slip that he was a werewolf!"

He shrugs and responds nonchalantly. "Details."

"Well, just… go away," I huff at him, really not needing this to deal with while Teddy is in this state. He's just lost his friend – and is apparently in the midst of a sexual crisis – and he doesn't need a heavy dose of deceased parental history.

He buggers off to the back of the office with a smug expression on his face and I turn my attentions back to Teddy. "Sorry about that. That's the last thing you need right now… Listen, you should sleep – have you been out all day? If you're willing to give me your memories from last night, I can put them in my Pensieve, sort through, try and figure out who your friend might have gone home with. Just… leave it to me. I'll figure out who did this."

He looks up at me with big eyes, like he needs me, just like he used to do as a kid, chubby toddler pulling at my trouser legs begging me with wide eyes to help him find his blankie. Now he wants me to help find the person – or thing – that killed his friend. Oh, but they do grow up fast.

"I just…" I pop up and start towards the back, pointing as I go. "I'll get the Pensieve. Um, stay there."

I haven't used the thing in ages – most of my customers aren't wizards equipped to share their memories with me – but there it is, as pristine as ever, since the day I received it from the Ministry. Little parting gift after I defeated the world's most supreme evil being, blah blah blah. I make them regret any gifts or kindness on a regular basis – they see me more often than not in cases that involve Muggles catching wise to our world. I see a lot of the Muggle Relations Department. And the Obliviation Squad.

Teddy assesses the Pensieve with its swirling silver surface as I set it down carefully on the coffee table in front of him. "Now you're going to want to think about last night, draw up the memory, then touch your wand to your temple and transfer it into here. Then I'll go in and take a look."

"By yourself?" Teddy questions, wrinkling his brow in thought and bringing the tip of his wand to his forehead as directed.

"Unless you want to go with me. You don't have to if you don't want-"

"I want to," he interrupts me, pulling a thin silver strand away from his temple and leading it down until it touches the undulating surface. Images from his memory – specifically a dim, busy room in a club – come into view and I reach down and grab his hand. 

"Then lean forward with me until you're touching the surface, and then just let yourself fall."

Teddy nods briskly and I can see a hint of Adam's apple, which bobs as he takes a nervous swallow. The plunge down beyond the surface of the Pensieve and into the dense, sweaty mass of people is disorienting – I've never liked diving into these things, though they are often the most useful way to assess a situation. We should be able to see things that happened just on Teddy's peripheral – and hopefully figure out what happened here that might have led to his friend's death.

The first thing I notice about the scene is that Teddy has excellent taste in men. It's just the kind of place I would go to myself; in fact… I take a better look at my surroundings. Well, I'll be damned – I used to come here, when I first moved to London. They've redecorated a bit, but the crowd is still young, beautiful and slightly dangerous. I can see why Teddy chose it. I can also recall the types who frequent it that might have meant death for his companion, as well.

"Why did you choose this club?" I bellow at Teddy, trying to be heard above the rumbling base.

He shrugs, barely paying attention to my question: he's looking for his friend, and himself. I tug on his arm and pull him closer to me. "This place is full of vampires, their hanger-ons and…" I see a vaguely familiar blond pass me on the right. "Ugh. Slytherins." 

"I don’t know – I heard about it at school. They said…" I think he's blushing, but I really can't tell under these lights. He swallows and draws up some courage. "They said people are willing to… do things here."

That they are. Lots of things. Things I really don't think my fifteen-year-old godson should be doing. I refrain from telling him so and getting an earful about my absentee mentoring skills. Teddy pulls away from my grasp and charges across the room to the bar – it seems he's spotted himself and his friend.

I follow, ducking in and catching the tail end of what must have been an interesting conversation.

"This bloke in the bathroom, he was asking me things. About you, Ted! He wanted to know if we were interested in a _threesome_." Teddy's friend is flushed and excited – Alex, I think it was. I look at Memory Teddy, sitting beside him at the bar. His eyebrows have disappeared into his fringe; he's practically speechless.

" _Seriously_?"

"Yes! Seriously! I think we should do it. I mean, I know we said we'd just come down and check it out, but this bloke was _fit_ , Ted. Gabriel, he said his name was. And I, well, I'm sick of being a virgin."

Memory Teddy chokes on the funky purple concoction he'd been sucking down. "Alex! Not so _loud_!" He looks around to see that nobody's heard. I can't help laughing. In his embarrassment, Teddy's hair turns a bright shade of pink – his Metamorphmagus trait coming out with a sudden burst of emotion. It fades back to his normal reddish-brown before anyone around him can notice, however. Incidentally he looks clear through the present Teddy, who, while standing right in his memory's line of sight, isn't paying attention – he's looking right at Alex, a sad look behind his eyes. He reaches out a hand to touch the nape of his friend's neck, but his fingers can't quite touch.

"Pensieve memories are weird." He must have forgotten I was with him, because he starts violently as I speak, then looks at me for further explanation. "We can see, hear and sometimes smell the memories as they were. But touching. That doesn't work so well."

"I just…" He bites his lip. "I didn't say goodbye. Not properly. And I wanted-" He tries again to touch his friend, growling in frustration when his fingers gain no purchase. "I wanted to be his first," he finishes eventually. "I thought I could come down here, get some experience… God. He died a virgin. That's…" He stops suddenly, lower lip wobbling slightly. I regret not bringing the box of tissues down here. 

"He mentioned someone named Gabriel, Teddy. Do you know who that is?"

He swallows down whatever emotion he was feeling before and turns to me. "No. I mean, it's some bloke who wanted to hook up with us. But after that, err, this-" He takes another look at the scene as it continues to unfold around them. "I started feeling ill, told Alex we should leave. He took off, looking for that Gabriel bloke. Said he wanted a shot with him, even if I didn't." 

To our right, just like Teddy said, Alex pops off his bar stool, throwing his friend a scathing look, and heads back in the direction of the loos. Teddy gets to his feet, teetering a bit and definitely looking ill, and moves towards the door. After that, the memory dissolves and we're in a new place. The Heath. There's mist round our feet and the sky is a mix of dank grey and a dusky pink – it must be first thing in the morning. I see Memory Teddy in front of us, wand pointed in front of him, moving briskly up a hill. I move to follow, but Teddy's hand on my arm stops me.

"I don't want to see it again."

"What?"

"His body. I don’t- I can't… please."

"You found him?"

"Yeah… woke up and he wasn't back yet, so I used a tracking spell. It… it was awful." 

We hear a sharp cry ripping through the dense silence of the morning.

"Found him," Teddy whispers weakly, going pale.

I don't really need to see the body again – I've got enough to go on from the club alone, so I put a steady arm around Teddy's shoulders and take us out of the memory. We fall back onto my couch, and I pop up immediately to get us some tea. The kettle will have boiled and clicked off by now – I'd completely forgotten about it – but tea still seems like the best remedy in this situation, so I prepare two steaming cups of Earl Grey and take them back in to the living room.

"Do you want them back now?" I ask Teddy quietly, handing him a cup and settling beside him.

"What?" He snaps out of a daze and looks at me with confusion.

"Your memories. You can transfer them back now if you want. Or, you know, later. They can stay in there for the night; I don't mind."

I can tell the tea burns his throat, but Teddy takes a long draw anyway. "I don't want them back yet, if that's okay. It'll be easier to sleep without, I think."

"Yeah, I understand." I take a drink of my tea, as well, contemplating my next move. It's not that late, and I should really move on the club angle as soon as possible. As if on cue, my mobile buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out – it's Malfoy. I let it go to voice mail – it's always amusing to hear him cursing on my answer phone. I know he wants an update, and I know he won't sit back while I do all the investigating. "Hey, Teddy, I've got to go out with DI Malfoy, look into things. I'll be gone a few hours. Will you be okay?"

"Yeah, of course. Just…" He looks around. "Where's the bathroom?"

"Ah. There's a loo down here – back there by the kitchen. The full bath's upstairs, attached to my bedroom. There should be fresh towels… somewhere." 

He nods quietly. "Yeah, okay. Thanks."

I ring Malfoy and roll my eyes at his ridiculous [caller tone](http://www.megaupload.com/?d=Y4O8VY1J). Robbie bloody Williams – the king of "is he or isn't he," the tease. "What?" he barks down the line and already he's set my nerves on end.

"I've got a lead. Meet me at Spunk in thirty minutes."

"Spunk?" he questions me haughtily.

"Yeah, Spunk. In Soho. Club. And don't pretend you don't know where it is." I ring off and sigh. Time to dust off the old clubbing gear.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

"Jesus fucking Christ, fucking suicidal arseholes on the bloody buggering Tube!"

I hear Malfoy coming before I see him, and can't help chuckling at his choice of words. When he finally appears before me, pushing through a throng of clueless theatre-goers, his face is contorted with annoyance.

"I fucking hate the Tube," he spits out, glaring at me as if it is my fault that he's had to bear this indignity. I almost remind him that it was he who had his driver's license revoked after several speeding incidents and one fairly massive pile-up, but decide to let him off. Well, plus, he's got a gun. 

"What happened?" I prompt him instead, genuinely curious, considering the "suicidal arseholes" line.

"There was a jumper on the Jubilee line. Or an accident, I don't fucking know. I only saw Smith briefly, talking to witnesses. Some say she jumped, others say she didn't. All I fucking know is that I'd love to push her under a train again. I had to walk from Green fucking Park. Why do they always pick rush hour?"

"It's not exactly rush hour," I chide him and he glares at me.

"It's half four and the fucking Olympics brought a million fucking new people to this city and its shit transport system and I swear they haven't buggered off yet, because they are always on the bleeding Tube. Fucking foreigners," he mutters and I roll my eyes. Good old xenophobia, a mark of the over-privileged and over-worked.

He pushes past me to the entrance of Spunk, frowning at the door. "Is it even open?"

"I rang the owner, he's meeting us here."

"Care to tell me why we're here now?"

"This is where Teddy and Alex – I mean, the victim – came last night. Teddy reckons his friend went off with the killer."

"Teddy? You two got friendly pretty fast," he says acidly. I know what he's getting at, but don’t rise to the bait. It's not worth explaining how Teddy and I are connected, as it would involve hashing out my family history and might raise some awkward questions about the whole wizard thing. Malfoy is already selectively stupid about it, no need to tempt him with the need to ask questions.

"He's scared and upset. He left the club early, got sick – I think maybe something was slipped into his drink - and his friend went off with the person who was hoping to get them both."

"Get them? Like a sexual thing?"

"Maybe. Though, was Al—the victim sexually assaulted?" God, I hope he says no. I couldn't bear to tell Teddy…

"No, doesn't look like it. Barnes says he died from blood loss; no evidence of sexual trauma."

What a relief. Though at the same time, it almost makes me sadder for the kid. Died a virgin. Kind of shallow, but, well, when you're fifteen, that's a big deal. God, _fifteen_. I cringe.

Before we can hash out the gory details, the owner of the club strides up to us, looking both annoyed and wary. He and I both know his club sees a mix of both Muggle and magical clientele, and while a murder investigation is never a good thing to bring into your club, one involving a Muggle detective is worse when the murder involves magical elements. Neither of us wants to bring in the Obliviation Squad again, I'm sure, and I give him a discreet nod to indicate that I'll keep Malfoy under check. I know I'm instantly recognisable to most wizards, but particularly to this one since I frequented this club not too many years ago. He nods back.

There's nothing eerier than an empty night club. Everything is swathed in black to give the patrons the illusion of anonymity, risk, sex. But with the lights all on and the sun outside? It weirds me out. Clive, the owner, offers Malfoy and me a drink from the bar. Malfoy goes straight for the gin. I stick to a lemonade. It's always better to be sober when you're dealing with a murderer. And werewolves. 

"So tell me about Gabriel," I start off, and the way that Clive visibly blanches tells me more than anything he could say probably will. 

"Gabriel? I don't know who that is, Mister…?"

"Potter," I supply with a smirk. He knows perfectly well who I am.

"We get a lot of people in here every night, Mister Potter. I don’t see how I can be expected to know this one…"

"He was here last night, went off at the end of the night with a young boy."

"That describes a lot of my patrons."

"Oh?" Malfoy chimes in, putting down his gin and tonic for the first time. "If that's the case, I might have to recommend your license for review. That boy last night was fifteen, and that puts him under the age of consent. If that happens all the time…"

"No, of course not!" Clive back-tracks. "I just… you'll need to describe this Gabriel person better."

Of course, I have no idea what Gabriel looks like – he wasn't in Teddy's memory, so I wing it. "Tall, likes to pick up boys in the loo, some people say he's a real _dog_." Hopefully Clive is smart enough to take the hint.

"I…" Clive stammers, looking between me and Malfoy. Sometimes I really wish I could just clue Malfoy in on the whole magic thing, point out that the "Wizard" part of my PI title isn't just some advertising ploy or cosmic joke.

"Is he a regular?" I prompt him, trying to get as much as I can without having to have a discussion about magic and dark creatures.

"Yeah, now that you describe him, he rings a bell. He and his _pack_ , they come here most nights." Bingo – Clive gets it, and there's my confirmation. Werewolf.

"Like tonight?" Malfoy interjects brusquely, clearly itching for some action. Another stake out with a drunk Malfoy is the last thing I want. Even if it is in a gay club.

"Yeah, probably," Clive mutters. "That's all I know. They pay the cover, they order drinks – I don't pay attention to whatever else they choose to do."

"Even if it's take home young boys and murder them in the morning?" Malfoy's voice has a hard edge and Clive squirms under his stare.

"I don't know anything about that. Listen. You two can stay around if you want, but Gabriel and his people generally don't show up 'til late. If they show up tonight at all."

"Do you know where else they hang out? During the day?" Like I said. I'm not going to hang around an empty gay club with Malfoy for six hours.

"It's best you don't go looking for them, Potter. If you wanna know about Gabriel and his lot…" Clive looks around, as if to make sure he's not being overheard, even though we're the only three in the place. "I know someone you can talk to," he finishes in a stage whisper.

"Just fucking tell us already," Malfoy slurs angrily and I roll my eyes. Bloody lightweight.

"Name, Clive?"

Clive swallows hard. "You got a pen?"

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

We're down at Mile End, looking for Clive's name – Geoff Ryman. Before we leave the club, Clive pulls me aside and clues me into a few things he couldn’t say in front of Malfoy. Geoff's a wizard, and so is Gabriel. Yes, there's a werewolf connection, but he can't give specifics. This Geoff bloke can.

His building is surprisingly nice – located directly across from a council estate, yes, but his place is clearly new, and is part of a gated community – one of the results of the Olympic East London regeneration project. Using my wand on the sly, I open the gate and Malfoy and I walk in, looking for Ryman's flat. Hopefully he won't come at us hexes first. 

Malfoy bangs on the door before I can do anything more subtle, and starts hollering for Ryman to open the fuck up. I really shouldn't bring him along on these things – it would be easier if I weren't dodging magical references and making sure he doesn't get us shot or hexed. But, oh, he does look just delectable when he's in DI Malfoy mode – his jaw tenses, eyes burn and his hair curls at the nape of his neck as he starts to sweat – he's always sweating, discreetly, though he tries to pretend he's keeping cool. I know he's gunning for the promotion to Detective Chief Inspector and he's got the drive, but at the same time I don't want him to get it. DCI's don't do field work with private consultants and, well, he's not only my best source of income and entertainment, but he keeps me… socially occupied. The days and nights get lonely when your only company is a sarcastic ghost.

The door swings back forcefully and I find a wand in my face. Dammit, going to have to Obliviate Malfoy. At least it's only a small thing.

"Who the fuck are you?" Geoff demands, his wand shaking slightly. He looks Malfoy up and down, who looks every inch the copper with his business-casual attire and gruff look. Then he gets turns his attention to me and his entire demeanour changes. The wand drops and a look of relief washes over his face. "Harry Potter? Oh, thank god you're here." Malfoy looks at me in surprise but follows me as Geoff ushers us inside, cautiously closing the door behind us. He leads us through a dark hallway into a small living room. It's full of rubbish – empty pizza boxes, curry-crusted take-away containers and an assortment of empty gin, vodka and rum bottles. Either this bloke's just a total slob, or he's been hibernating here for a while.

"Sit down," he offers, hastily clearing the sofa of old newspapers and what looks suspiciously like a pair of soiled underpants. Geoff's hands jitter nervously as he collapses back in a chair across from us. He looks from us to the window. I follow his gaze and see what is making him particularly nervous – it'll be a full moon tonight, though it is barely dusk. No wonder Clive said they might not hit the club tonight.

"Tell us about Gabriel, Geoff. Clive sent us."

Geoff darts his eyes in Malfoy's direction – he's an obvious Muggle, even though he's with me.

"It's okay. You can say whatever you need to say in front of him. _Anything_." Geoff doesn't look convinced, but he starts to speak, anyway. 

"You can protect me, right? You're Harry Potter. You know people. Gabriel will kill me if he knows I told…"

"Isn't he already trying to kill you?" I indicate his surroundings. 

Geoff simply glares at me. "Gabriel can make it either very fast or very slow. I'd rather die quick."

"I'll fucking kill you if you don't tell us already," interjects Malfoy crossly. We're talking over his head and he doesn't like it.

"Fine," Geoff says irritably, itching idly at his collar and glancing out of the corner of his eye at the horizon again. "Gabriel… he's the head of my pack. I'm…" He hesitates. I simply nod, letting him know that I know full well what he means.

"It started off… I believed in what he was saying, really. Gabriel has the right idea, but his tactics…" 

I can see Malfoy is tapping his foot impatiently. He never likes the vague speak and there's really no way to get the information I need out of Geoff without actually discussing the problem; it's going to be one hell of an Obliviate I'll have to use on Malfoy later. I heave a sigh and try to get things going. 

"Get specific, Ryman. What does Gabriel believe; what are his tactics?" 

"He thinks we should have equal rights. As wizards. And…" He takes a deep gulp before saying it. "Werewolves."

Malfoy starts beside me, but there's no dramatic outburst. He does this every time – tries to keep cool, take it in stride, when I know he's dying to freak out, curse Geoff, curse me. Or maybe after half a dozen Obliviations he's subconsciously latching onto the whole thing. I don't know.

"And I mean, he's right," Geoff barrels on. "Greyback is full of shit. I'm no animal. One or two nights out of thirty doesn't make me _not_ a wizard." Malfoy twitches again. "There's lots of us with Gabriel – we're trying to get a lobby together, but…" He looks nervously down his hallway at the front door, as if expecting to see a blood-hungry pack burst in any minute.

"He's started recruiting, just like that… animal. And he's planning something big, recruiting someone big. Says it'll get us real clout at the Ministry. This'll sound ridiculous to you, but I was a pacifist… before. I've never killed anyone. Gabriel wants each of us to turn one wizard, though, and, well. That's when I left."

"I take it Gabriel didn't take to that so well?" Okay, it's a rhetorical question, but this information about Gabriel's pack is a lot to take in. This is a much bigger fucking mess than just Teddy's friend being killed. Oh, right, have to ask about that.

"No, I’ve just been hiding out here for the past month because I like the indoors."

I raise an eyebrow at Geoff's attempt at wit. Or toothless antagonism. "Is Gabriel going after children? Like Fenrir?"

"What? No! He wouldn't…"

"He killed a fifteen-year-old boy last night," I interject.

Geoff blanches. "That's—I don't know anything about that. Gabriel usually doesn't kill, just changes people."

"Well, he didn't _change_ this one," Malfoy jumps in, stressing 'change' in a way that makes it obvious he's in doubt that any of this werewolf talk is legit. "He fucking _killed_ him. Ripped him open. Now tell us where this scumbag Gabriel hangs out."

"Down in the Docklands," Geoff concedes with a heavy sigh. He's already told us the worst, and something in his eyes tells me he expects to die soon anyway. "But not tonight. He started calling it Recruitment Day." Geoff looks grimly at the sky outside as it starts streaking faintly pink. "They'll be starting in a few hours. And I have to lock myself in the garage, actually. You two should be going. And steer clear of Gabriel and his pack tonight – we, err, _they_ take Wolfsbane, but they'll attack any able wizard they think can add to the cause. You especially, Potter – for all you know, you're the target. Imagine turning Harry Potter…"

My stomach turns at the thought. No one wants to become a werewolf, not willingly, and though things have improved mightily since Remus was my age, Gabriel and his group are certainly right – werewolf rights are nowhere where they should be. But recruiting wizards to be werewolves? Establishing a lobby? I don't want to be anyone's poster child, but particularly not this movement's.

It's a long walk to the Tube station and we're barely out of Geoff's gate when Malfoy pounces.

"Okay, so what the fuck was that? Werewolves? And why did he recognise you? I thought you said you didn't know the chap."

I knew this would happen. We've had this argument before, though always in a different context of whatever magical thing we've stumbled onto. It's the first time anyone's ever recognised me in front of him, though. I give the vaguest answers I can so my Memory Charm later can be a clean one.

"I don't know any more than you do, Malfoy. He's clearly a drug addict or something. Werewolves? How ridiculous." _Lie_. 

"You seemed pretty serious about it."

"Well, I didn't want him to think I was mocking him. He might have tweaked out and attacked me." _Lie_.

"That doesn't explain how he knew you."

"He probably saw my picture in the paper." _Lie_. "We made the front page on that dead millionaire case, remember?"

"You think a junkie recognised you from one picture on the front page of _The Daily Telegraph_? Do junkies even _read_ _The Daily Telegraph_?"

"No, they read _The Daily Mail_ ," I joke. Malfoy doesn't laugh. He drops the subject, but it's clearly bothering him. I start counting down the minutes until I can Obliviate him and go back to normal – until the next time something like this happens, of course.

Malfoy is eerily silent on the Tube ride back to my office. I don't even ask him to come back, he merely foregoes his own stop and before I know it, we're back at mine, face to face with a half-naked Teddy. I do a double-take, giving him an unintentional once over – there's nothing but a towel slung low on his hips and he's leaning against my couch, teacup in hand, looking as comfortable as if he were fully clothed. Malfoy gawps beside me, then pointedly looks away, colouring. I eventually do the same, but not before my traitorous mind – and prick – takes note of his lightly muscled physique. I remind myself that he's fifteen. And my godson.

"Hey, Harry," Teddy greets us casually, as if completely unaware that he's putting my Catholic guilt into overdrive. And I'm not even Catholic.

"Um, Teddy, hey. Took a shower?"

"Oh, yeah. Snape showed me where the towels were."

Snape couldn't have shown him where my bathrobe was, the git? 

"Great. Good. Have you eaten?" I'm babbling, looking just past Teddy's head, all the while minding that Malfoy doesn't leave while I'm distracted – I still have to Obliviate him.

"No – figured I could wait til you got back. You have, like, no food in your fridge, you know."

"Yeah, I know. I've been busy… Malfoy? Fancy a pizza? Teddy?" The look on Malfoy's face says he's thinking back to the rotting food strewn across Geoff Ryman's apartment, but as if on cue, his stomach gurgles with hunger. "Yes, then? I'll order. Um. Be right back."

I escape to the back, where I keep a rather extensive collection of menus. I don't cook much. I pick out one of the few that actually delivers and reach for the phone, but get the equivalent of an ice bath on the way. Snape materialises through the wall and moves right through me, the bastard. The sudden drop in temperature does kill all residual feelings of arousal, at least.

"I figured you'd need that." Snape's smirk is triumphant and I, once again, really wish hexes worked on the incorporeal. Snape lives (or doesn't, really) to torment me about the fact that I prefer the same sex. 

"Shut up."

"Well, it's just a good thing you didn't arrive home an hour ago or else you would have found young Mr. Lupin masturbating on your bed. He's _very_ flexible."

"You're such a fucking pervert. I can't believe they let you teach children."

"Look at who was Headmaster," Snape scoffs. I resist the impulse to defend Dumbledore – we've had this argument before, and I know he's only kidding. It usually ends with my pointing out that he "served" two notoriously powerful – and gay - wizards. Technically I make the third, though if Snape ever tried to "serve" me that way, I'd Banish him to some skull for the rest of his eternity.

I can't help it – the mere thought of Teddy wanking on my bed, well, it undoes all the good Snape's makeshift cold shower did me and I'm hard in my pants again. Snape, unfortunately, notices.

"Aren't you a bit… old for that?" He's trying not to laugh, I can tell.

"I'm thirty-two, not dead," I snap, awkwardly adjusting, trying to hide it, will it away by touch - something.

"Yes and I'm sure his father would approve."

"You leave Remus out of it."

"Touchy, are we?"

"Of course I'm touchy," I huff. "I've got a werewolf turning wizards to form some bizarre lobbying group with some unknown big target and an emotional, half-naked fifteen-year-old masturbating on my bed. Plus I've had Malfoy in tow all evening and he's heard all of this, so I have to get him drunk and Obliviate him tonight. And my fucking erection won't go down. Fuck," I curse, pounding out the numbers to the pizza place angrily and placing an order for a large cheese pizza. The sooner we eat, the sooner I can get Malfoy drunk, Obliviated and on his way, and give myself some quality porn-and-wank time. And figure out what to do with Teddy.

Back out front, I find Malfoy perched on one arm of my couch, brow furrowed in thought. He's probably going over everything we've gone through today – mangled bodies, werewolves, half-naked boys. Too bad all he'll remember in the morning is the first and last. Teddy lumbers down the stairs leading to my lofted bedroom, dressed this time, thank god. I start counting down the minutes until the pizza arrives.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

What I love about getting Malfoy drunk is that he always tries so bloody hard to maintain some measure of control. I can see him struggling to keep his speech patterns slur-free; he over-annunciates and bites his lip trying to come up with the right things to say, smart things to show how Not Drunk he is. I love watching him as he licks his lips, furrows his brow and, occasionally, giggles at something I've said or done that he finds funny. He usually catches himself, though, and pretends he wasn't giggling. Because he's Not Drunk. 

It makes me want to kiss him. But, I never do. Considering I usually Obliviate him at the end of our drinking sessions and pass off the gaps in his memory as the result of his drinking, I could do anything with him. I won't, but I do think about it.

I'm thinking about it now. I'm also carefully considering how much to Obliviate – if I leave too many gaps in his memory, he'll start to suspect something. Not that he has yet. Anyway. He needs to be drunker. Definitely.

He's just finished his second glass of gin and tonic, which I promptly snatch up and take to the kitchen for a refill. My wrist "slips" so Malfoy's glass ends up with twice as much gin as mine, not that he'll mind. I reckon I need only do this for another hour before I can Obliviate him, call him a taxi and send him on his way. Teddy's asleep upstairs, but I wouldn't be surprised if he has nightmares after the 24 hours he's been through. It's bound to be a sleepless night.

When I cross back into the living room with the drinks, Malfoy has a strange, almost feral look on his face as he licks his lips and looks me up and down. As far as I know, he's not a slutty drunk, though one can only hope... I smile widely and hand over his gin-heavy drink, then boggle as he sucks down the whole thing in one go, smacking his lips wetly as he finishes. His glass lands on the coffee table with a heavy clunk and suddenly he's off the couch, wresting my own drink from my fingers. Without ceremony, it joins his empty glass on the table.

My back hits the wall, hard, and before I can recover or ask questions, Malfoy's on me, insinuating a leg between mine, his tongue in my mouth. He jerks my arms over my head and grips my wrists between one hand, holding them against the wall. He wastes no time unbuttoning and unzipping my trousers with the other.

I know it’s the booze working, but I don't care. Malfoy has his mouth on me, latched onto my neck, tonguing at my pulse point. I moan and he ruts against me, digs his erection into my hip.

Oh, yes, I have been hoping for this for longer than I care to admit. I don't know what it is about tonight that's got Malfoy all riled up – I've certainly got him drunk before – but I also don't care. At the rate things are going, I think I'm going to get laid, and that is very much a good thing. I think to Teddy, and cast a quick sound Muffling Charm to deflect any noises we might make – I'd rather not give my fifteen-year-old godson a show. Even if he probably would enjoy it.

"Fuck. Malfoy, yes," I moan, pressing firmly against him so he can feel my own hard-on. I feel him grin against the skin of my neck, then can't help flinching as he nips at me with his teeth.

"Jesus! You're one kinky bastard, Malfoy. I mean, it makes sense, but…"

"Shut up. Just…" Malfoy's speech drops off and he proceeds to show me what he wants. My clothes are off in short order, though my buttons are an unfortunate casualty of the process, and Malfoy removes his with a bit more care but equal speed. Malfoy naked is everything I've ever imagined him to be – thin but lightly muscled and pale as paper, which only serves to accent his red, jutting cock. I want to suck him, take his cock into my mouth, fondle his balls, lick his arse, then drive my cock into his tight heat. If anyone deserves a thorough dressing down, it's Draco Malfoy, and now that he's initiated sexual contact, I look forward to making him moan, scream and come.

Malfoy has other ideas, however. He grabs my hips hard and spins me round until I'm flush up against the wall; I have to turn my head to the side to avoid a broken nose and pair of glasses, and my cock ends up wedged between my stomach and the wall. It's uncomfortable but exciting at the same time – I never bottom, mostly for lack of bedfellows with the metaphorical balls to top Harry Potter, so I put my own plans on hold. 

What I do mind is the total lack of preparation before Malfoy's spit-slicked cock pushes against my entrance. My curses are swallowed up by Malfoy's tongue in my mouth, however, and all I can do to show my displeasure is bite his tongue – but the bastard only laughs at that, and continues to push slowly inside. I'm turned on by how apparently twisted and kinky he is, which temporarily distracts me from my discomfort. At least he is going slowly, almost agonisingly so, and it seems an age before he is seated in me completely. He breaks the brutal kiss and lays his head in the crook of my shoulder, so we are simply two sweaty bodies conjoined, panting sharply.

Before I can prompt him, he starts to move, but not with any sort of fluid motion. It's jerky and not at all at a good angle, and considering all I can feel is an awkward friction, I decide some rearrangement is in order.

"Malfoy, stop."

"No, not done yet," he grunts against my shoulder, managing another series of erratic movements.

"Not stop altogether, prat. Just we need to change positions. This is crap."

"In that case, okay."

His body pressure against me suddenly lets up and I hiss as his cock withdraws from my arse. First thing is first – I pick up my wand from the floor and conjure some makeshift lube into my palm. Malfoy's breath hitches as I spread it over his dick; he closes his eyes and grins, rutting into my hand. I don't know if we should move to the couch or what, but as I finish off by circling two lubed fingers around my hole Malfoy seems to figure it out.

"Up you get, Potter," Malfoy leers, placing a steady hand on my torso and patting his thigh with the other. 

I hop up, bracing myself between his body and the wall. I can feel Malfoy's cock brush against my arse. I want him in me again and I whine softly, trying to manoeuvre myself accordingly. I'm being shameless, but the gin has made me dizzy and giddy and on fire, and Malfoy, well, he's a long-standing fixation of mine. That he wants to fuck me, that he is initiating this is all I need to let go of any reservations I might have. He's drunk and I'll be Obliviating all the magic stuff anyway – I can always do away with the more embarrassing aspects of my performance tonight if I want. Especially the way I'm whining.

"I want you in me, Malfoy."

Definitely that.

Sweat runs down my spine, my glasses start to slip down my nose and I lose some purchase on the wall, sliding down. The slick tip of Malfoy's cock teases against my hole momentarily, but then misses it altogether, sliding instead along my crack. Okay, this looks way easier in porn, and I let out a frustrated grunt, trying to manoeuvre us right. Malfoy, on the other hand, is not phased in the slightest, and barely strains when he moves one anchoring hand downwards to grab his cock. He uses his hand to position his dick against my hole, and then effortlessly pushes inside me, and at my breathy moan – it feels so much better with the added lube and improved angle – he takes the license to start pounding into me, hard. 

I'm bouncing up and down on his cock like he's some fucking pogo stick; the wall is scraping my back and my thigh muscles are burning from the strain of trying to keep myself upright. This is possibly the best sex I've had in years, but Malfoy is disappointingly lackadaisical about the whole thing. He's concentrating, yes – I can feel his thighs strain and see the furrow of his brow – but my moans are the only appreciative sounds filling the room. He fucks me mechanically and were it not for the fact that I want rather desperately to come riding his cock, I'd stop. I settle instead for our old standard – a heavy dose of snark.

"You can at least – fuck! – pretend like you're – ugh – enjoying yourself – fuck!" It comes out somewhat stilted, but I get my point across nonetheless. Malfoy eyes me amusedly, then shrugs.

"Fine." 

_Now_ I'm glad I put up the Muffling Charm. Malfoy's _growling_ , his pace doubled, the heavy slapping of his balls against my arse almost comical. I grit my teeth as his cock assaults my arse, stroking across my prostate at all the right intervals.

I come so hard I black out momentarily, and shaking I fall slack onto Malfoy, who only manages to stay upright – and keep fucking me – by slamming me hard against the wall, restoring the balance of weight. Now I'm seeing stars for an entirely different reason. The bastard will pay for that in the morning.

"Ow. That's going to leave a mark," I mumble, in pain but too sexually sated to really care. Malfoy thrusts inside me again, hard, and comes, laying his teeth into my shoulder and biting into the soft tissue there. 

"Jesus, Malfoy, ow!" I cry, smacking futilely at his side, but being far too weak to make an impact. We pull away from each other, spent, and I slide slowly down the wall into a sitting position. Malfoy stumbles over to the couch, falling back into the cushions.

"You're a surprisingly good lay, Potter." He smirks and I throw him a lazy two fingered salute. Malfoy shrugs it off, just chuckling under his breath. "Come over here. Let's get some sleep."

I never figured Malfoy was one for cuddling, but with all the alcohol and the sex I'm all for a bit of sleep. And Teddy's upstairs taking up the bed, so I was planning on being couch-bound anyway. Malfoy lies across the sofa turned on his side and I crawl in behind him. Figuring it's all a loss at this point, I pick up my discarded wand and Summon a blanket to cover us. I throw in an extra cleaning spell for good measure, mostly so we don't end up stuck together in the morning.

Malfoy doesn't seem to have any problem spending the night, it seems; he's out before I can even close my eyes, snuffling a bit, to boot. Obliviation will have to wait until the morning, then. If he snores, I'll hex him.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

My back is killing me. I'm also naked and rather cold. I pry myself out from behind Malfoy and climb over him. My pants are here somewhere and, yup, there are my trousers. A clock on the desk tells me it's four a.m. - how long were we asleep? It seems my getting up has disturbed Malfoy's sleep, and he slowly cracks open one eye, then two.

"Potter?" he croaks sleepily. Then he sits bolt upright. "What the _hell_ happened to me last night?" He looks confused but then his eyes widen comically. "I... I had _sex_ with you! It was... I didn't want to, but at the same time I did, like someone was telling me… Potter you complete fucking freak, what did you do to me?"

Okay, as much of a blow to my ego as it is that he's rebuffing me, that's the least of my concerns. I haven't performed the Obliviate yet... so why the hell is he being so spotty?

"You started something with me, Malfoy. I didn't make you do anything."

"No, that's not true! You were in my head, you sick fuck, making me do those things. Fuck, I have a headache, too."

Shit, fuck, bollocks, fuck. Imperius. I knew it was too good to be true that Malfoy would want to have sex with me. Why the _hell_ was someone using Imperius on Malfoy, though? And to fulfil my sexual fantasies? I somehow doubt anyone likes me that much. 

Oh, fuck.

I race upstairs – how could I be so stupid?

"Potter, wait! Where the hell are my clothes?" Malfoy calls up after me, but I'm too preoccupied by the total lack of Teddy upstairs. I perform a quick spell and determine my worst fear – he's not in the flat.

Damn it. How could I miss this? They weren't after Teddy's friend, they weren't after _me_ , they were after Teddy. The wizard son of the werewolf who started the bloody movement.

Fuck – they've cleared the entire place of him, right down to my towel that he used. The problem when dealing with wizard-cum-werewolves is that they know exactly how you operate. But I need to track him, need to find him.

There's one possibility, maybe... I check the rubbish bin by my bed. Man, Teddy will be mortified when he finds out I used his dried spunk from a discarded tissue to track him. If he's still alive that is… or speaking to me when this is over. It's my fault he's been taken, and they're either going to turn him or kill him. My stomach drops.

The crumpled up tissue feels like sandpaper in my hand as I bolt downstairs. Malfoy is nearly dressed and is working on the buttons of his shirt as he accosts me. "What the _fuck_ happened, Potter? Was that... magic? Real magic? Jesus, I knew it – you're a real freaking wizard, and you used it on me to... to... rape me!"

"Malfoy, I think you'll find that you're the one who fucked me. I didn't use magic on you, someone else did." I can't say more without making it more difficult to Obliviate him cleanly. Which I need to do now – I can't go after Teddy and leave Malfoy alone. I whisper a Confundus and Malfoy's angry face goes slack. Touching my wand to his temple, I sort through everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours that I now have to steal from his memory. For just a moment, I consider leaving the sex – the _amazing_ sex – but the fact remains that he was influenced by a third party, and I can't leave that without his remaining suspicious. 

"Obliviate," I command firmly and Malfoy's expression goes momentarily blank, then angry again. He jerks away from me.

"Ugh, Potter, hands off!" His fingers fly to his temple and start massaging. He has a headache, though not for the reason he thinks. "I'm never drinking again."

We both know that's not true. And if he ever did keep his word, I'd have a much tougher time passing off his gaps in memory.

"Listen, I... I have to go," I say hastily – I need to get him out of here, quick. "Teddy's run away and I think I know where he's gone. If you come with me, I think he'll spook, so..." Malfoy's current expression says he thinks I just want to be alone with the half-naked boy again. I wish that were my foremost concern, instead of worrying that he may be dead, or turned.

"You're free to clean yourself up upstairs. Your Oyster card is on my desk." I offer a weak smile and try not to rush back to the lab.

"Snape!" I bark and he appears almost immediately, for a change.

"So, you and Mister Malfoy, finally." 

Ah, that's why, then – an opportunity to heckle me, of course.

"He was under Imperius, Snape," I snap. "So no more jokes. It's the bloody werewolf lobby; they took Teddy."

Snape understands the gravity of the situation immediately, and I even catch a fleeting guilty look – he must have been watching me and Draco go at it and totally have missed them taking Teddy. A two-fold distraction, then.

"You need to track him, Potter."

"I know." I hold up the tissue, its most recent use obvious. Snape wrinkles his transparent nose in disgust and sighs. 

"Let's get to work, then."

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Sunrise is in less than an hour, and a part of me really hopes Teddy has merely been tortured all night. Considering the alternative is that he was turned early and underwent his first transformation tonight, the sick thought brings me a small measure of hope. 

This part of the Docklands never managed to see the Olympic regeneration project, too far off the Tube route for city planners to care. After all, just the dregs live here, right? I'm in front of a grimy warehouse that probably fell into disuse during Maggie's reign, and has become the home of street gangs and miscellaneous punks. And, of late, an idealistic group of werewolves.

The inside is exactly what you'd expect – dirty, damp and just generally not somewhere you want to be at any time, let alone in the dark. A gentle light is creeping through the windows, but not enough to negate the sick feeling in my stomach.

There's no one downstairs – rather strange, I think, but the spell says Teddy is here – or was when I performed it less than an hour ago. My wand goes up the stairs first, led by my shaking hand. I hear the moans before I can see anything – they are moans of anguish, of the hours after the change. Hopefully this moment of vulnerability will mean they won't hex or attack me outright.

Teddy's easy to pick out; he's the youngest person in the room by at least five years, and I can't help but feel a small comfort at the fact. They're not turning children like Fenrir, at least. But, Teddy... even from the landing I can tell he's been turned – he must have been, from the state of him. I flush instinctively at his nakedness, but recoil as I draw closer. He's hunched over on his front, but the gash from the bite that turned him runs over to his back. It's a nasty wound, one that will get infected, fast, if I don't get him some magical-medical help.

I don't dare test the wards verbally for anti-Apparition wards, so instead I quickly heft Teddy up into my arms and awkwardly make my way downstairs. Before I can reach the landing, a cold voice resounds behind me.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I turn to find a hulking figure staring me down, completely naked, with wand drawn. He's looking at me with a mix of cool anger and curiosity. This must be Gabriel.

"You turned him."

We both know it's a statement, not a question, but Gabriel answers me anyway.

"Yes. What are you doing? He's ours now."

"He's not _yours_. He's a boy. He belongs with his family. And at school."

"Are you counting yourself as family now, Harry Potter? Word is you haven't had anything to do with your godson in a good few years."

The jibe hurts, but I shake it off. I can't let him get the upper hand. "He's going home to his grandmother. No fucking way am I letting you bring him into your pack, pass him off as your poster boy."

Gabriel raises a brow, surely surprised I'm so clued into his schemes. "You know about that? You're a better detective than I thought. Easily _distracted_ , but good with details, I see."

My teeth start grinding of their own accord. It seems I've met my mental fuck buddy. It explains the biting.

"Anyway, you needn't worry. The boy's not ready to represent us in full. We don't plan to deny him his Hogwarts' certificate."

"Then why turn him now?"

"Fenrir, disgusting as he is, is right about one thing – its best to get them young. We don't do it as a rule, but if Theodore Lupin is expected to lead us to political equality, he needs a few years to adjust to the wolf. He's old enough to be a fine wizard and young enough to be turned and learn the ways of the wolf without letting it dominate him. It was the right time, and he practically fell into our laps."

"Nice theory, but Remus Lupin, your 'inspiration,' would be disgusted."

"On the contrary – I think he'd have the foresight to realise the viability of my plan. His son is the perfect political emissary. We thought of turning you, but figured you'd fight much harder for the lobby if it was young Mister Lupin who became the wolf. Plus there's the name recognition. Son of a werewolf war hero and all. You shouldn't take him so soon after the change. He's going to be... very emotionally vulnerable." Gabriel smirks at that, and I'm clearly not in on the joke.

"He's going to die from infection. And I highly doubt you'll take him to a qualified medical professional."

"Will you? Our kind are still pretty untouchable, even at St. Mungos. Take him and they'll bring the Ministry in. They'll start dosing him with some pretty nasty drugs, and his name on the national registry will make it rather difficult to return to Hogwarts."

"At least they'll give him Wolfsbane."

"So will we. Do you think we let ourselves run amok, every full? We have a very qualified, dedicated brewer who doesn't lace our stuff with debilitating sedatives. The side effects from their stuff renders any werewolf virtually unemployable, and generally unsavoury to the public."

He eyes me taking all this in, and knows when he has won a small victory in appealing to my logic as it pertains to Teddy's well-being.

"Go, get him treated if you like," he continues. "I hope you have the sense to be discreet about it. He's going to have questions, and since I don't have my mobile handy..." He pats his naked hip and torso as if looking for the pockets of a non-existent waistcoat. He's smug in his own nudity – I have to admit he's easy on the eyes. I linger a second too long and he catches it, leering at me. "Tell him he can find me at Spunk. You can find me there, as well, if you're interested in... coming on. Otherwise, I'll be getting in touch with him soon enough."

Teddy groans in my arms, and I turn again to leave. Gabriel's calculating voice echoes as I go.

"Oh, and don't bother coming back here with your detective buddy. We'll be gone."

Once we're outside, I Apparate us back to my flat, dreading the moment he wakes up and I have to explain this all to him.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Hannah Abbott, an old schoolmate who's since become a Healer who I know will operate with the candour needed, has just left; Teddy is sleeping.

I can't bear the thought of going upstairs, facing what I, essentially, let happen. Too distracted by my cock to even consider Malfoy wasn't in his right mind. His wanting to sleep with me should have been a giveaway, after all.

I spend an hour trying to compose an owl to Teddy's grandmother, but how do I explain what happened, what I let happen? Eventually I settle for a brief, sober account and tell her where she can find us. I put the missive aside once it's done, though – she'll come over as soon as she gets it, and I think I'd like to talk to Teddy first before he's overwhelmed by Andromeda, who is sure to fuss. And possibly hex me.

Teddy stirs at dusk; I can hear him groaning in confusion, then the sharp cry as he either remembers or discovers his wound. 

"Your godson is wrecking your bed sheets." Snape appears through the ceiling a minute later. "Crying all over them. Weak, like his father." The insult lacks bite and even Snape sounds sympathetic to the situation, which makes everything that much worse.

I troop upstairs, letting my feet fall heavily enough that Teddy knows I'm coming. I hear no protest, no cry of "go away," so I enter my bedroom and find him curled up in the foetal position, sniffling. It seems the worst of his grief has passed. I sit next to him at the foot of the bed, the mattress dipping with my weight. Teddy untucks his head and looks up at me with big, tear filled eyes and my stomach lurches. What the fuck am I supposed to say? This is my fault.

"This is my fault," I choke, always one to (sometimes stupidly) speak my mind.

"No, Harry." Teddy cringes as he disturbs his wound, bringing himself to a sitting position. "They were after me before; they would have got me anyway."

"Did they explain why?"

"Yeah. Before they... it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. The bite, I mean. Turning was... horrible. I can't believe my dad went through that from the time he was a boy. I can't imagine..."

"Wait... you remember it? But you hadn't had Wolfsbane."

"Actually... they gave it to me, at the club. I hadn't had alcohol before." He laughs weakly. "I just thought it tasted like that. So they gave me more before they turned me, and it was weird. I was me, but I wasn't."

Teddy furrows his brow, then crawls forward, wrapping himself around me and burying his head against my hip. 

"Oh, _Harry_ ," he exhales brokenly into my shirt. "I'm just so confused."

I've always been pants at consoling the distraught, but I rub circles on his back the way I think a parent would, anyway. Nothing I could possibly say could make this better, so I don't bother with words. Teddy doesn't seem to mind. His hair oscillates between bright blue, violet and a vibrant pink, a different colour with every stroke of my hand on his back. He's emotional, obviously, which brings out his Metamorphmagus powers in full force. My mind flashes on Teddy as the wolf, and whether or not his fur changes colour. I feel guilty for even considering such a thing.

I rock him back and forth for two, three minutes, feeling useless but preferring this over any discussion. Teddy's hair flashing a vibrant red is the only warning I get before he pops up, grabs a hold of my shirt with both hands and pulls himself level with my face. His mouth is on mine before I can say anything or push him away. He's clawing desperately at my clothing with his hands and pushing his tongue into my mouth; I can taste fresh tears on my lips, making the whole thing weirder. I'm not kissing back, nor pushing him away – I'm shocked, but also feeling guilty, wondering if this is what he needs. But when I feel one of Teddy's hands fumbling in my lap, reaching for my prick, I jerk away violently. 

"Teddy! Stop, no! What do you think you're doing?"

"Please, I need..." He grabs the collar of my shirt, trying to work the buttons loose. I scoot back until I'm out of arm's length, noting how Teddy's flushed and breathing hard, looking both horny and miserable at the same time. This has to be what Gabriel meant, when he said he'd be emotional after the change.

"No! I'm your godfather! I'm twice your age!" I try to reason with him.

"I don't care, Harry. I just... I need you right now. Please."

His expression breaks my heart, like a kid who needs a parent, needs anyone to tell him everything is going to be okay. A kid who will settle for a quick tumble as a poor substitute. I can't take advantage of him, nor can I really play the parent role. There's been too much space between us, and now with this inadvertent sexual attraction I've been feeling… I'll have to settle for slightly distanced, hopefully rather cool godfather. 

"I… I can't give you that, Teddy. This is the wolf talking, I'm sure. Just… calm down and remember who you are. What you are. I know you're confused, but whatever you're feeling, it will pass, I promise. You don't want to regret anything you do with me." 

Teddy's face falls, but he nods, sadly. He shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face as if in pain, and takes several deep, steadying breaths. When it seems he's got his conflicting feelings under control, he speaks again.

"Can you just stay with me? I promise I won't try anything again. I'm so tired… but I keep remembering the change, thinking about what I am now. And I-" He bites his lip nervously, like he doesn't want to tell me something.

"You can say whatever it is, Teddy." I try to sound reassuring.

"Everything feels different now. I can… sense things, and, err, smell you. Which is why I, um… I smelled sex on you, Harry, and I couldn’t help it." He makes both a displeased and surprised face, wrinkling his nose. "Was it you and Malfoy? Urgh, Harry – he's a total prat."

I know I'm blushing, and I'd rather not explain the detail where it wasn't actually Malfoy that I was with. 

"Yeah, I know, Teddy. Of course I'll lie down next to you, help you sleep. Just nothing inappropriate – I know you can't help it, but, um, yeah…"

Now Teddy's blushing. "I'm sorry. I'm just so overwhelmed, and you were here and I could _smell_ you and something told me it was the right thing to do. God, I'm an… animal!" Teddy's face falls and he crumples down onto the bed. He screams his frustration into the mattress and punches his fist into the fluffy down of my comforter.

I lean over him, touching my hand tentatively to his shoulder. "You're not an animal," I say softly, hearing him sniffle. He pulls away from me, moving up the bed and lying fully on his side, back turned away from me. 

"This is going to be difficult, I know, but you'll be okay, I promise. I'll take care of you this time. Everything will be okay."

Like he'd been needing to hear those words the whole time, Teddy suddenly relaxes, turning over and drawing himself closer to me. I put my arms around him and release a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding as he tucks his head into my shoulder. 

"Thank you, Harry," he whispers against my shoulder and I lie there with him until we both fall asleep. 

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

I awake sometime in the early hours of the morning to find Teddy sitting at the head of my bed, calmly watching me.

"Morning, Harry," he says calmly, and I can't help wondering if this is the part of the horror flick where the werewolf pounces on the weary victim. 

"Um, hello, Teddy," I respond sleepily, blinking at him myopically as I reach for my glasses and put them on. "What time is it?"

"Five."

"A.M.? Really? Wow."

"Yeah, you were out like a light. I didn't want to wake you. I hope you don't mind, but I used your owl to send a letter to Gran. I figured she should hear about this from me."

"Oh?"

"I left out some of the details. Mostly your part. Well, not the part where you found me, but before…"

"Um, yeah, thanks." Great, my fifteen-year-old godson feels the need to protect me from his grandmother.

"Anyway, I wanted to say goodbye – I'm taking the train over to her as soon as it starts running."

"Teddy, are you sure you're okay with all this? You're suddenly handling this really well."

"I can't change what's happened, or what I am now. I need to be an adult about it." I boggle at his zen-like attitude.

"An adult? Teddy, you're only fifteen! You should be upset and pissed off, blame the world. It's what I would have done." Okay, it's what I did, actually. And I wasn't even reacting to anything this big – I have the 'watching a schoolmate die' bit in common with Teddy, but nothing that comes anywhere near being turned into a werewolf.

"Of course I'm upset, Harry, but it's not going to help anyone if I lose my head."

God, it's like he's aged overnight. He suddenly looks years older, though maybe it's his Metamorphmagus powers kicking in with this new emotional surge.

"And Gran…" Teddy worries his lip. "I think she's always kind of resented my dad, or what he was. She doesn't go a month without mentioning how glad she is I didn't inherit any of his lycanthropic tendencies. This is going to kill her, and I'll need to be the strong one. And there's the cause, too…"

"The cause? You mean _Gabriel's_ cause? You've got to be kidding me, Teddy."

"Harry, there's nothing I can do. It's the fate I'm stuck with now. I thought it over already. He'll find me anyway, and he is right – werewolf rights are not at all where they should be. My father fought during the war to show that werewolves could embrace their wizarding sides, too, and fight for the right side, and what did they get from it? More persecution! I think he'd be proud if I could do something to change it."

"Teddy-"

"No, please, Harry." He's insistent. "I just… I need your support on this. You don't hate my kind," he chokes on the words a bit. "I know you don't – you may be the only one who will totally accept me. I need your help."

"I… I know, Teddy." God, I hate this. I want to be angry _for_ him, for what has been done to him, but seeing him accept his fate like he is; he's right: I can do nothing better than offer him my complete support. "What can I do?"

"Can you, um, talk to Hogwarts for me? I really want to go back and finish school, but I don't think there's been a werewolf there since my dad. And that was only because Dumbledore was the headmaster. I don't know if the headmistress will let me go back. But you're Harry Potter, and they'll listen to you, right?"

"Of course, Teddy. I'll owl her straight away. They need to know about Alex, as well."

Teddy goes white. "Oh God – I almost forgot! I'm a horrible person, how could it slip my mind that… that… it's all my fault." 

Teddy's new, zen approach to the situation cracks and his eyes well up, starting the grieving process all over again. He's going to feel guilty for the rest of his life that his friend died because the werewolves who got a hold of him were angry that he wasn't Teddy instead. I flash on my own guilty conscience.

_Kill the spare._

But I have to shake it off – there's no use dwelling on the past, and my loss can't compare to Teddy's – I barely knew Cedric, all-around good bloke that he was.

"At least let me feed you some breakfast before you go. You didn't eat all day yesterday; you must be starving."

Teddy considers it, though he's clearly sceptical. "Do you even have anything? I looked in the fridge, and it's pretty empty…"

"I'm sure I have a box of Coco Pops in the cupboard somewhere. They might be a bit stale, but still edible."

"Yeah, okay. I am kind of hungry. You really should go to the shops more often, Harry."

"I know. You head down, I'll just clean myself up and join you in a minute."

God, I really shouldn't be up this early, even if I did fall asleep at nine p.m. I feel like my brain's made of candy floss. I get washed up, dressed and go on a food finding mission with Teddy downstairs. Eventually I rummage up two eggs, a reasonably fresh banana and the (predictably stale) Coco Pops, though I'm out of milk, so we have to eat them plain.

At half six, I walk Teddy to the Tube station. We walk in silence, neither of us willing to disturb the calming still of the chilly morning. Some slight variations in his nose length, width and colour tell me that he's going over something heavy in his mind – he'll have emotionally-related Metamorphmagus flare-ups until he's at least seventeen, if he's anything like his mother.

"Do you have an Oyster card?" I ask him when we reach the station entrance. He nods and pulls a blue card out of his pocket. I'm wary of him travelling on his own, but he's insisted. I try one more time to persuade him otherwise. "I really don't mind paying for a cab, you know."

"I know, but I like the Tube. It's like playing Snakes and Ladders, navigating my way around. Besides, it's stupid to spend thirty quid on a journey that could only cost two."

I chuckle at his mix of childish wonder and adult practicality, then pull him into a hug. "Just be safe, Teddy. Ring me from your grandmother's so I know you're all right. And don't forget to write to me. I promise I'll make a better go of being your godfather. I've been crap at it."

"No you haven't, Harry." Teddy pulls away from the hug, and gives me a small smile. "You've just been busy, I get it. And I'm a thousand miles away at school most of the year. You still remember my birthday and everything – that's more than some people who promised to look out for me."

"Yeah, well, your Gran sent me a Howler the one year I forgot, so that will never happen again."

"When was that?"

"You were four."

"Ah, yeah, I wouldn't remember, then. You know what you can get me this year?"

"What?" I ask archly, amused by his gumption.

"Gay sex guide. I think I'll need one, and I can't ask Gran…"

"Teddy, that's rather inappropriate."

Teddy merely raises an eyebrow, as if to remind me of everything that's happened in the last forty-eight hours. So, okay, the least I could do is buy the kid a book.

"Fine, but you have to keep it to yourself. I don't want Hogwarts confiscating it and writing your Gran, who'll hunt me down and castrate me."

"Deal." Teddy grins, offering me his hand and we shake on it. He hefts his bag onto his back and heads towards the ticket barriers.

"Oh, Harry?" he turns and adds before he goes through. 

"Yeah?"

"Make it one with pictures, okay?"

"We'll see, Teddy," I reply dubiously and he winks at me and touches his Oyster card to the reader, going through the barriers. I'm so distracted watching him get onto the escalator and disappear from sight that I don't notice someone come up next to me.

"That was touching."

I flinch and nearly draw my wand on the figure next to me, but relax quickly when I realise it's just Malfoy.

"Jesus, Malfoy, don't sneak up on me like that! What are you doing here?"

"I rang you six times yesterday, but you didn't phone back. I wanted to see if you'd turned up anything else on our case. I see that Theodore Lupin is just fine. Hugging the witness, Potter? Not very professional."

I roll my eyes. "Lay off it, Malfoy. Yes, he's fine." I leave out the part where he's been turned into a werewolf. "He's gone to stay with his grandmother. I got the number, so we can still contact him if we have any further inquiries."

"Doesn't seem like we will. Medical examiner said it was a rabid animal attack, nothing more than that. I'll have to track down that Gabriel bloke Ryman mentioned – sick fuck probably set the dog on him."

I nod, pretending to be surprised. But I'm not – I gave the M.E. – nice woman named Felicity Barnes – a ring and advised her that my lines of inquiries had lead in an unconventional direction. This, of course, is code talk between us for "let's clean this up so no one asks any more questions." She's not a witch, but Felicity's a sharp tack.

"Why are you over here so early?" I ask him – I hadn't pegged him for a morning person. I'm certainly not.

"Couldn't sleep. Been having weird dreams. Anyway, I thought it would be fun to wake you up at the crack of dawn, ruin your day. I must say I'm thoroughly disappointed to see that you're already up."

"Oh, I’m sure you are, Malfoy. Would you like to get breakfast?"

Malfoy looks back at the ticket barriers where Teddy's just gone through and shakes his head.

"No, no – it's okay. I have to start looking for Gabriel and his gang. There's probably drugs involved, given some of the witness statements, so I'll have to bring in someone from the CID who knows the drug scene. Shouldn't need you anymore on this one. I'll call you next time something comes up though."

I narrow my eyes, catching wise that Malfoy's trying to cut me loose. This happens sometimes post-Obliviation, especially when he tries to apply normal logic to one of our cases. He goes into overdrive and tries to include anyone but me in order to reorder his world. So I plaster on a fake smile and offer him my hand.

"Of course, Malfoy. Was good working with you. I look forward to next time." We shake on it, Malfoy gripping my hand harder than necessary in a show of machismo. 

"Right. Later, Potter." 

He's sped off through the barriers and on an escalator before I can answer.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Generally, after I have to Obliviate Malfoy, he gets pretty jumpy for a few days, but seeing as what I've just erased from his memory is fairly major, I'm not surprised when he stops calling me for a few weeks. He's avoiding me, I know, which is a shame considering the odd case or two I've seen reported in the papers that I would have enjoyed being called in on. But I don't work without Malfoy's say-so, so it's been a lot of lonely nights at home.

I'm getting a bit antsy, with nothing to do but get up late, argue with Snape and wank. It's fairly tedious, broken up only by the occasional visit from friends. Every time I hear a knock at the door, I hope it's Malfoy, though. It never is.

Which is why I'm genuinely surprised when there's an urgent knock at my door mid-afternoon on a Thursday, and when I open it, it's Malfoy standing on the other side, looking harried and slightly pissed off as usual.

"I need to come in," he barks and I step aside obligingly. I pretend to be indifferent, but I'm honestly pleased – and relieved – to see the git.

He makes a sweep of the living room/office area, then eyes me warily. He's trying to break through my Memory Charms, I'm sure, flashing back on when he had me pinned against the wall two weeks ago. He remembers, oh God – I feel my cheeks heat – he's going to--

"It's fucking crazy out there." He jerks his head toward the window and instinctively I look. Everything seems normal, if a little foggy. I shrug.

"Seems fine to me. What's wrong?" I'm fishing, trying to see if he'll mention our little encounter. It is possible to break through a Memory Charm, and he's certainly devouring me with his eyes.

"Weird shit, Potter. Unexplainable shit."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, yes, I know – you want me to do my 'mumbo jumbo' and quietly fix things so you have a shot at your DCI job. But you'll have to be more specific, I'm afraid."

Malfoy eyes me, almost amused. "Yes, DCI job. Well, if you want me to be more specific-"

A sharp rap, followed by several insistent bangs, sound at the door, cutting him off. It's odd having visitors at all, let alone more than one at a time, so I approach the door with caution. No sooner have I opened the door an inch, it's thrown open all the way, so hard it rips the bell off its mount over the doorframe. A pissed off Kingsley and harried Percy cross over the threshold, a look of relief crossing their faces as my wards pass over them.

"Thank God," mutters Percy before he turns and shuts the door firmly behind them. He peers past my curtains out into the alleyway beyond, a look of apprehension on his face. I follow his line of sight and finally see it – it's not just foggy out, its _Dementor_ foggy. Fuck.

I shoot a look at Malfoy, who looks as confused as he should be. His eyes are darting from the conditions outside back and forth to Kingsley and Percy in their formal Ministry wear. It's not every day that the Minister of Magic makes a house call; in fact, I only see Kingsley when the Ministry is Really Hacked Off About Something. This must be more serious than a few rogue Dementors loose from their colony in Siberia, then. But there's Malfoy here, the less-than-stupid Muggle among us and I don't fancy Obliviating him again so soon, so I try to avoid talking directly about the problem.

"What are you doing here?"

"Don't speak to the Minister that way!" Percy snaps and I roll my eyes accordingly. I've received one too many letters of admonition signed _Percy Weasley, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic_ ; I think the git thoroughly enjoys writing them.

"It's okay, Percy." Kingsley moves towards me, blocking Malfoy from our ranks. "Harry," he says in a low voice, "this is your detective bloke? The Muggle?" I nod yes and glance over at Malfoy, who is clearly vexed at being discussed on the sly. Kingsley seems to think things over, then sighs. "Well, we'll just have to deal with the consequences later. I must speak candidly about this, and it's not as if he can leave."

"I'm confused, Kingsley."

"We're trapped in here, for the moment," he informs us resignedly. Malfoy visibly pales.

"Wha... what do you mean, _trapped_?" Malfoy asks. "Won't those things go away?"

Seeming to take the cue from the Minister, Percy goes into news report mode. "We're surrounded by a pack of rogue Dementors. The magic grid is down in the entire area, so there's nothing we can do to repel them. Your wards seem to be intact, Harry, but save for hiding until they leave or we die, we have no form of recourse." 

Malfoy is positively green now. I, myself, am rather uneasy, but I attempt to maintain some composure.

"That makes no bloody sense!"

Okay, not that much composure.

"We know, Harry, we're as perplexed as you are. The only reason Percy and I are down here is the Department of Magical Catastrophes could make head nor tail of the magic blackout. Then the Dementors showed up and without the ability to cast an Expecto Patronum or Apparate, we had no choice but to run for the nearest cover, which happened to be your office. It's damn lucky we were in your neighbourhood."

"And that my wards held."

"Particularly that," Kingsley says grimly, moving to my front window and peering out at the swirling grey. 

"What are we going to do?" 

"We were hoping you or this place in general was a magical anomaly." Flourishing his wand, Percy tries a simple Lumos, to no effect. I pull my own wand from my pocket – Malfoy's eyes go wide as saucers at this – and give it a go. Nothing.

"Damn," mutters Kingsley.

I have an idea, though I don't especially like it.

"Snape!" I bellow and he pops right through a wall. Of course he was listening. "Ever heard of anything like this?" I ask without pretence.

He only pretends to not know what the hell I'm talking about for about a second, then answers tartly, "I've read about it in theory, but taking out an entire magical grid would take either a lot of power or a lot of stupidity. Or both."

"How would you even do it?"

"With runes, most likely, a particular algorithm designed to sap the entire area of energy, magical and otherwise. As I said, I've never heard of it being done. Not even Voldemort was that moronic."

"Well, it's down from Barbican to Liverpool Street, so that's quite a lot of power." Kingsley looks unsettled by the implications. No one wants another Voldemort. But that gets me thinking. The only wizard left alive on record with power anywhere near that is--

"You bloody think it's me?"

It explains why Percy's been looking at me sideways this entire time. The pompous arse can't help but chime in. "It does seem to be central to your location and you _have_ had run-ins with rogue Dementors before..." Percy's got that damn eyebrow of his quirked – no matter his reconciliation with his family and working for a former Order member, he still doubts my mental stability. I've never particularly liked him.

Kingsley doesn't contradict any of Percy's assertions, nor his next.

"And, besides, as technically the most powerful wizard alive, you're the only one with the raw magic to do this."

"No fucking way." That's Malfoy, who is starring at me as if I've grown a second head. Suddenly I realise he's been listening to this entire conversation, and the cat's out of the fucking bag. Fuck.

"Potter's the most powerful wizard alive? This moron? The faux wizard detective everyone makes fun of? And, for Christs' sake, is that a _ghost_?" Malfoy turns his haughty gaze on Snape, who throws him an equally unpleasant expression. 

"Fucking hell. I need a drink."

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

It's been two hours, five minutes and thirty-four seconds since this bloody ordeal started, and I'm stuck in my office with a mouthy ghost, two displeased and suspicious Ministry officials and one Malfoy, who despite staring at me for almost the duration, has not said a word to me. To make things worse (or better, if you're the wanker who planned this whole thing), the wards on my front door have just gone down and it's getting cold and pretty fucking gloomy in here, fast.

"Damn it." Kingsley stands before the approaching wall of fog, wand drawn, though it is a fruitless action.

"It doesn't seem to be coming any closer." Percy tries to hide his fear, but he was always a shit liar.

"I have every room separately warded," I inform them, to a twin set of raised eyebrows. "We're safe in here, until this one goes." 

"Well, how long until that happens, approximately?" Kingsley asks.

"The ones on the entrances are strongest, so I'd give us, say, an hour on this one before we have to move into Snape's cupboard."

"I'll not have the lot of you in my space, Potter," Snape sneers, casting a particularly scathing look at Kingsley. "Dementors have no effect on me now, so I don't give a bloody damn."

"Who do you think you'll pass to if I die?" I muse. "My money's on Neville Longbottom."

Neville just happens to be Snape's second least favourite student of all time (I'd be the first). If a ghost can blanche, Snape does it.

"Well at least we're not wanting for refreshments," Percy says, trying to shift the conversation. His expression turns to one of disdain as he surveys the (lack of) contents of my refrigerator. "No wonder you're so thin. Nothing to eat."

I really want to shove him into the next room, let the Dementors have him. Somehow I resist the urge.

We settle into a comfortable silence, or as comfortable as it's likely to get. Snape disappears into his little corner of the universe, which helps. 

"So when you say 'all powerful wizard,' what exactly does that mean?" 

Kingsley, Percy and I turn to look at Malfoy simultaneously. His silence during this debacle has been so uncharacteristic of him, I've considered Imperius more than once, though it's clearly not an option this time. 

Malfoy's still waiting for an answer, and I look to Kingsley for the go ahead. He shrugs. "It's not like we'll let him remember when this is over. You can tell him if you want."

I don't want to tell him at all, but we're trapped in a very small space with nowhere to go, and he's looking at me with an eerie, resolute calm... I take a deep breath.

"Um, yeah. I kind of did stuff, saved some people. They're exaggerating."

"Please, Harry." Kingsley's tone suggests he doesn't exactly buy my modesty. "Harry defeated the most powerful and corrupt wizard of our time. He's a hero. They call him The Boy Who Lived."

I catch Percy rolling his eyes on the edge of my peripheral vision. Prat. Malfoy seems to digest this information, flashing briefly on confusion, then clear antagonism. Thank God, the Malfoy I know and, err, like is back.

"Why the hell are you playing at this private detective shit, then? Shouldn't you be ruling minions or something? Taking over the world? And why 'The Boy Who Lived'?"

"I _like_ being a private detective," I bite back. "And I kind of died a few times. Or almost did. It's kind of fuzzy. Stupid nickname, really..."

"Wow, Potter, I underestimated you, clearly." Malfoy actually looks… impressed. He eyes me appraisingly, as if seeing a whole new person before him and I try to shrug it off, cheeks colouring. Eyes locked with mine, Malfoy licks his lips, and suddenly it's as if all the sound has drained from the room.

Kingsley's looking at Malfoy funny and Percy's rattling off Ministry decree number eight hundred and forty-two about Muggles and Memory Charms, but I'm too wrapped up in the expression on Malfoy's face. He looks like he wants to pounce, and I'm hard in my trousers almost instantly. God, does he remember? He must, because a moment later he's making excuses about needing to use the loo, eyes burning into mine with a different message, and I know from a long history on the gay club scene that that's horny code talk for "I need to fuck you in the loo." I say something about checking that he's all right and follow him upstairs, where I find him waiting in my bedroom.

"Come here, Potter," he husks, beckoning me over to sit beside him on the bed. I comply, keeping my eyes locked with his as I move over – there's definitely no glazed over look, and with the magic blackout it's not Imperius. But still…

"What's going on, Malfoy? I know you've been drinking, but you've never seem interested before…"

"What can I say, power turns me on," he drawls. "I always had the suspicion that all this wizard shit wasn't just a ploy. But boy hero? You're getting me all hard, Potter." He shoots me a cock-sure grin, which somehow looks out of place on Malfoy's face. 

"You're not freaked out?"

"Not really," he shrugs. "You've pulled your… wand out in front of me before, you know. You lot aren't very careful about things. I'm just surprised to hear you're such a big deal. But what I'd really like to see if your _other_ wand…" Malfoy leers at me, and before I can ask any more questions, he's on me, shoving his tongue down my throat and a hand down my trousers.

He pushes me back into the bed, making haste in moving down my body and yanking my trousers and pants down. Whether under the influence or not, Malfoy seems to be consistent in the aggression department. I sigh wearily – another quickie bottoming for the randy DI. If I weren't so horny, I'd assert myself and switch things around. But right now all I'm concentrating on is the sensation of Malfoy's mouth on my cock, the sweet, hot vice of his lips, suctioned round my shaft. Fuck, where did he learn to suck cock like that? 

Before I can spend too much time debating Malfoy's technique, he introduces yet another conundrum. With surprising strength, he flips me over and – Christ on a cracker – he's rimming my arsehole. Now, _this_ is far dirtier than I ever imagined Malfoy going. The applicable question now: _where_ had he learned to ream someone open like that?

I'm moaning into a pillow, because I'm more than well aware that I've got Kingsley Shacklebolt and Percy Weasley downstairs sipping tea whilst a horde of Dementors lurk outside, and then I'm screaming into my pillow when Malfoy enters me swiftly with the entire length of his cock. Once again, we're lube light, but Malfoy's talented tongue has at least loosened me up a bit and I don't care one whit about his lapse in the one finger, two finger, three finger, cock etiquette, not when he's on top of me, fucking me down into the mattress and muttering such dirty things in my ear.

"Been wanting to do this for ages. Going to fuck you clear through the mattress, boy hero. Fuck, you're tight, too."

Malfoy's hips are slamming against me, driving his cock into me at an exhausting pace. I can barely keep up, pushing my arse up to meet him and eventually give in, stilling and just letting him ride me. The sex is raw, but it makes it all the more better when his cock sparks against my prostate unexpectedly and I swear hotly into my pillow. 

"You like that, huh? 'Course you do."

"I – fuck – didn't even think you were gay, Malfoy."

"Oh, you know my type, Potter. Privileged upper-class toff, with long lonely nights at the all boys boarding school."

My snort of amusement quickly turns to a throaty groan as Malfoy shifts his angle, sparking wave after wave of pleasure. I'm close; all I really need is a hand on my cock to come. I use an outward thrust to get my hand underneath my body and grasp at my prick.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I'm panting into the pillow in sync with Malfoy's thrusts and my jerky hand movements. Malfoy's brutal rhythm falters and he withdraws from my arse without warning, letting out a string of expletives as he wanks himself furiously over my back. 

"Oh, God, going to come all over your arse, Potter. Fuck!" Hot pulses of come hit my arse a moment later, and I can't help but feel disappointed. Even though our first time I was fucking, well, _not_ Malfoy, at least I got to come with him inside me, and keep up some pretence of a connection. I feel like a decorative object. At least he's not into facials.

I lean forward, placing my weight on one arm, and jerk myself off frantically, Malfoy egging me on.

"Fuck, yes, wank yourself off, Potter. Use my come to do it. Oh, god, yes."

My orgasm hits me suddenly, flooding heat throughout my groin and I collapse down onto the bed, wrist milking my cock weakly. Malfoy heaves himself down next to me and purrs in my ear.

"That was fucking hot, Potter. You're going to get me hard again…"

Let's hope not – I don’t think I could take another round.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

I slip downstairs when we're finished, well aware that I probably look shagged out, but knowing we can't stay in the bedroom forever – it's not the best place to get trapped if the wards on the hallway go. Malfoy says he'll follow me down in a few minutes.

When I walk into the kitchen, Kingsley is holding up a silver flask, frown dominating his features.

"Done, Harry? We have a problem." 

Now Kingsley always sounds pretty serious about things, but when I catch Percy's strained expression – and particularly the way he is grasping tight to the handle of his useless wand – my heart drops into my stomach.

"What?"

"Mister Malfoy... he's been drinking out of this since he got here."

"Yes... he's kind of an alcoholic. Always says he'll quit, but it's bullshit." I titter nervously. Kingsley doesn't even crack a smile.

"It's Polyjuice, Harry. I don't know who's upstairs, but it's not your detective friend. And I suspect he has something to do with our little... predicament."

Shit, Fuck, Buggering Bloody Hell. I slept with... Not Malfoy _again_. Leave it to me to let my cock get in the way of my brain. Knew I should have grilled him more. 

"Shit."

"Don't be so vulgar, Harry," Percy sneers, and he's not just talking about my language.

"Shut it, Percy. Kingsley – what are we going to do?"

"I don’t know what we _can_ do, Harry. We can't go outside, and we have no magic to use against our mystery companion."

"What about non-magical defences? I have, um…" I look around the kitchen. "Knives!" I pull one out, part of a gift set I received from a well-meaning, if clueless friend. "I mean, if we can't use magic, then neither can he."

"Yes, but if he's controlling this, he can reactivate the grid at any point and attack us, before we're any the wiser. And don't discount that this may be a woman we're dealing with."

God, I hope not. To sleep not only with an impostor, but with a woman? I shudder at the thought.

"What about Snape?" Percy inquires.

"What about him?"

"He's a ghost – can't we just send him out there with the Dementors to go get help? They shouldn't have any effect on him, and they certainly can't claim a soul from him."

As if on cue, Snape appears. "Absolutely not."

"He does have a point, Snape. You're already dead, so they can't do anything to you." Man, I hate agreeing with Percy.

"I know that, but Potter, I'm not-"

He breaks off as the air frizzles with magic. At first I think it's my wards collapsing, but when Kingsley reflexively draws his wand and brandishes sparks, I realise it's the magic grid coming back up. I bolt from the kitchen, my own wand drawn, and reach the front room just in time to see the front door swinging on its hinges, broken bell dinging discordantly with each sweep.

"Fuck!"

"Harry, what is it? Do you have him?" Kingsley comes up behind me.

"No. He's gone." I run up to the door and pull it open, peering outside. "So are the Dementors. Jesus Christ, what the fuck was that all about?"

"I don't know, Harry, but clearly it had something to do with you." He's pursing his lips and looking at me disapprovingly. This is exactly why I left the bloody Auror squad – always expected to be the shining, perfect boy hero, every stupid mistake treated like the end of the world. That plus the government corruption, impossible to get out like a bloodstain on fabric, and I was out of there. 

"Well, Kingsley, I can't tell you what the hell it was, considering I have no idea who that was. I haven't pissed anyone off to such a degree that they have to orchestrate such an elaborate ruse to get me in bed, so sorry."

I'm extremely hacked off, from the Malfoy mishap, to Kingsley and Percy coming in here and accusing me of being the problem, now twice over. 

"Harry, I'm sorry, I-"

"Just save it, Kingsley." Pushing aside my glasses, I press two fingers to the bridge of my nose, a massive headache brewing. "You and Percy should go. I'm sure he has a report on this he's just itching to write up. I'll see what I can dig up on this, but honestly I'm grasping at straws."

"There will have to be a full scale investigation, Harry," Kingsley informs me stoically. "We can't have someone this powerful and unstable running around. I'll be in touch."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," I intone.

As soon as Kingsley and Percy are gone, Snape pipes up.

"You have a rather destructive weakness for Mister Malfoy, it seems."

"Fuck off, Snape."

"Just making an observation," he says tartly, and withdraws into his room.

A keen observation, indeed. 

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

It's been four days since the Polyjuice incident, which makes it nearly three weeks since I heard from Malfoy. The _real_ Malfoy, that is. I don't know exactly what I did to spook him, but this is the longest I've gone without working a case with him. This is excruciating, and I find myself growing almost… depressed at the prospect of not seeing him again. God, I'm pathetic.

So naturally I'm surprised – and just a bit ecstatic - when my mobile rings "[Like A Drug](http://www.megaupload.com/?d=WILIVGJT)," Malfoy's personal tone (What?), at ten o'clock on the fifth day (plus two weeks equals nineteen days since we last spoke). There's been an odd death he needs me on, is all he says. I grab my coat and am out the door in a minute flat. Considering the last time I saw him, he was really someone else, it'll be interesting to see how he reacts. Or how I react. Here's hoping the frosty evening will counteract any potential erections. The last thing I need is Malfoy thinking I'm getting hard for him... or the dead body.

Now that I've had sex with Not Malfoy twice, I can't help the way my heart drops into my stomach when I see him, looming over a crumpled body. He's none the wiser, but as far as I'm concerned, we've been intimate twice, much as I try to tell myself it wasn't him. Problem is, at the time, I thought it was. Got attached to the idea. Which basically means I'm fucked.

Also fucked is the poor sod whose body I've come to see. He looks perfectly normal, for a dead bloke, so I can't imagine why Malfoy asked me out here. It's arse cold, on top of everything, October is rapidly moving into the November chill, and my breath mists in front of my face as I approach the scene.

"How'd he die?" I ask, peering over Malfoy's shoulder at the body, bundled tight in a beige parka. My voice startles Malfoy, though he tries to hide it.

"He drowned." Malfoy grimaces up at me, squinting from the glare of streetlights above my head.

I look around us, miles from the river and nowhere near any other body of water.

"Um, drowned? You mean in his own vomit...?"

"No. In a major body of water, according to Barnes. She says she'll have to do a full work up, but from the looks of it, he was fully submerged in something." Popping up, Malfoy dusts his hands off on his thighs, taking special care to stand up particularly straight so he's got that inch of height on me and All Is Right With the World. I roll my eyes, as usual.

"Okay... so he was dumped here?"

"Nope. He was seen in there-" Malfoy points to the nearby Tesco Express. "-not five minutes before he died. Barely made it a block."

"But we're..."

"Nowhere near a major body of water?" Malfoy interrupts me, looking smug. "I know. Hence your being here. Do your mumbo jumbo so they can cart this one off to the morgue. I wouldn't have called you so late, but I know how you like to 'be where they died'."

Yeah, so the police buffoons don't pollute any residual magic. Malfoy thinks I just get off on the grotesque. 

Keeping my wand hidden out of sight under my jacket, I crouch down over the body and test for errant magic. And, low and behold, I find some. The surprise must register on my face, as Malfoy notices. I usually don't find obvious traces on victims. Most wizards are smarter than that.

"Found something?"

"Um, I think so, yeah." I lean over the poor bloke and inspect the area where the magic seems the strongest. There – on his neck. I heft the rigid body up a few inches, unzipping his parka half-way and pulling down the collar of his shirt. It's a mark I've never seen, but no doubt it's a magical rune. This is one of the times I'm glad I let the salesgirl talk me into a nicer phone, which I pull out and snap a quick photo of the mark to show Snape. He'll know better than I do what it means. Then he'll gloat for at least ten minutes about how ultimately useless I am.

"I have to take this home, look up what it means," I tell Malfoy. "Can I meet you at the morgue?"

"Don't bother tonight – Barnes says she won't get to cutting him open till tomorrow morning. Meet me there at nine?"

"Oh. Um, yeah." I can't help but feel a little bit disappointed. It's our first real meeting in over a month and we're parting after barely ten minutes. He's also being annoyingly civil, when I'm used to a lot of snark and baiting between us. Before I can say anything else, even ask him to go for a coffee, he's turned and stalked off. I make my way to the nearest dark corner so I can Apparate home. At least I'll see him tomorrow.

When I show Snape the photo of the rune, he shrugs it off like I haven't brought anything nearly interesting enough to entertain him.

"It's an equation signifying a second chance. Many particularly vapid wizards and witches have it tattooed on as a fashion statement, the intention akin to making them lucky."

"So it's just a tattoo? That's it?"

Damn it – I need something more to go on, if I want to stay on this case with Malfoy. Snape doesn't appear to care.

"Yes, seems like it."

"On a mysterious drowning victim who doesn't appear to be a wizard," I question him, sarcasm edging in my voice. 

"Potter, I don't appreciate your insolent tone," Snape responds impatiently. "I'm not an encyclopaedia. For all you know, he was drowned in a bathtub somewhere and dumped at the site, and this rune has crossed into the Muggle mainstream. The sycophantic masses will wear anything they're told is fashionable."

"Someone saw the _live_ victim in a Tesco's right before he died. And, no, not one on the Strand. He wasn't dumped," I inform him smugly and get a malicious glare in return.

"I don't _have_ to help you, you know. You're the same whinging brat you always were, Potter. Come back for help when you're ready to talk to me like a human being."

"But you're dead!" I shout at him, but he's already gone.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

I'm awoken at 9:15 a.m. by the shrill tone of my mobile ringing.

"Where the hell are you?" is the first thing I hear when I ring on, then it hits me – I was supposed to meet Malfoy at the morgue fifteen minutes ago.

"Fuck. I'm sorry, Malfoy, I overslept. I'll be there in ten."

"Ten? No one gets anywhere in London in ten. If you can pull that off, I'll buy you lunch."

Malfoy always does this, and I always defy the laws of space and physics, he rants, because, of course, I Apparate usually. Though he always loses our little bets, he'll keep making them until the day he can no longer deny that I actually can bend space and time, at least to get from place to place. And no matter how many times I "win" our bets, the prat rarely buys me lunch. Cheap bastard.

"Morning, sunshine," Malfoy greets me crossly ten minutes later. "I'm not actually going to buy you lunch, you know." That's more like it. He's somewhat back to his normal self, an improvement over the strained civility of last night.

"Shut it, Malfoy."

"You two are as contrary as ever, I see." Felicity Barnes greets us, smile on her lips. She's used to us and I tend to think that, as the City of London morgue medical examiner, she enjoys our little shows. We're more lively than anyone else who comes through here. It helps that she can give as well as we can, always ready with a saucy retort.

"If you'll follow me, I have an interesting diagnosis for you."

"Interesting how?" Malfoy asks.

"Interesting in that I'll have to falsify another death certificate for you."

We follow her into the examination room; I shiver as we walk into the cold space. There's our victim, laid out on the table, an ugly Y cut into his chest where Felicity cracked him open to look at his insides. I know the Muggle way is more thorough, but the whole process is just horrific.

A resounding "snap" echoes in the small, metal-filled space as Felicity puts on a pair of latex gloves. Malfoy jumps nearly a foot, though he tries to play it off as if he did it on purpose. Maybe he's flashing on a particularly unpleasant prostate exam? I snigger and he flashes me a frosty look.

"Now, apart from having drowned, your victim was completely healthy."

"He definitely drowned, then?" 

"Oh, yes. In a substantial body of water, as I postulated last night. Sea water, specifically. There was salt water in his lungs."

"Our witnesses say he was alive in Tesco right before he died, so I don't see how this can be right." Malfoy has his standard "oh fucking hell not again" look on his face – though he's come to expect these kinds of deaths, he never enjoys when a new one comes along. All this stuff we face challenges his logic, his cause and effect reasoning, which as a cop, I know he hates. I wish once again that I could explain the wizarding world to him, give him a new logic system to explain it all and put him at ease, but I know I can't.

"I'm always right, DI Malfoy, you know that." Felicity grins wickedly. "But, yes, it is an anomaly. And not the first I've seen of late." She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Usually it's not you two here, so I can't say anything, but we've been seeing a lot of unexplainable deaths lately."

"Such as…" Malfoy seems both sceptical and intrigued, as am I.

"Such as spontaneous combustion. Only, not. As much as I'd love to be the M.E. with a documented report of spontaneous combustion, I know that's not what really happened, though it's what ended up in the official file."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because the victim burned to death in a crowded night club – without the usual bursting into flames bit. He had all the internal symptoms of dying in a fire, but none of the external. I can give you my file, though it won't help much. The detective on the case screamed at me for even bringing it up, so as I far too often do for you, I changed it in the official report."

Felicity colours – I know she hates falsifying her files, but often with magic related death it's simply necessary to keep the wizarding world under wraps. Though Felicity is not a part of our world, nor does she officially know about it, I know she believes in the supernatural and understands that we operate outside the mainstream. Sane medical examiners – and detectives – don't blame witchcraft and voodoo for crimes. Which is partly why Malfoy uses me – I figure out "whodunit," while coming up with perfectly legitimate – and sane – reasons for things to have happened so Malfoy can put it in his report and maintain the status quo.

She retrieves the record, bringing with it a few more thin manila folders.

"These are the most recent ones that I can remember – they're all patchy on the details, but worth cross-referencing with your own files. Officially, I didn't give them to you, okay?"

"Of course not – I’m the soul of discretion, Felicity." Malfoy offers her his sweetest smile and for a minute my body thrums with jealousy. It's ridiculous, of course, surely Malfoy's not interested in Felicity…

"Alright detective inspector, enough with your shameless flirting. You're making Harry here jealous."

Oh dear god, fuck. 

"Kidding, the two of you! You can both start breathing again," she says, laughing. "You're impossible."

If only she knew why I stopped breathing for a minute there. And Malfoy, too? Is he that freaked out by the prospect? Okay, I have to stop this, fixating on Malfoy like a lovesick teenager. But I flash on my two times with Not Malfoy and how good it felt being fucked by him… just being with him in general, really, and I realise that I am good and truly screwed.

"So, what are you going to put as the cause of death?" I change the subject, though I'm also genuinely curious.

"Acute massive pleural effusion, cause unknown," she rattles off, then upon seeing both Malfoy and my confused looks, simplifies. "Fluid in the lungs from an internal source, but I can't say from where or why it killed him. It's vague enough to satisfy his relatives and not raise too many questions."

"Thanks again, Barnes." Malfoy tips his head to her, moving toward the door. He's got the scent of a big case and I can tell he's itching to get back to the office.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Potter," he says as soon as we're in the hallway. "Can you believe this?"

"Yeah, um, no. Sounds like one mad conspiracy." Or an evil wizard killing people, but I don't say that out loud.

"A conspiracy involving your mumbo jumbo. For all I know you're the one killing people."

I snort with amusement. "Yeah, right. I wouldn't be this obvious about it."

"That's not very encouraging."

"Malfoy, I'm not killing people with magic. You don't even _believe_ in magic."

"I don't _not_ believe in magic, either. I just think your magic shtick is complete bollocks."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Just a gimmick to get me more work. Which, you realise, it really doesn't. You're one of the only people who works with me."

"That's because you're complete bollocks. Really good at figuring this stuff out, but the magic is crap."

I can tell he doesn't fully believe what he is saying. Denial, thy name is Malfoy.

"You okay to dig through some files? No way in hell am I sorting through this shit alone. The Met's archives are notoriously disorganised and I'm not paying you by the day to sit on your arse."

"Yeah, yeah, Malfoy, I'll help."

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The Met headquarters is a depressing place. The building is done in the 1970s Brutalist style, once the height of London architectural fashion, which more or less has produced some of the ugliest buildings in the world. The Met is no exception and, of course, the inside is just as oppressive as the outside's sharp angles and grey slate – sickly yellow panel lighting, cinderblock walls and tiny corridors that lead to cramped offices with a maze of messy desks and cubicles. Someone clearly tried in the early 00's to mod the place up, but the minimalist furniture of then just makes the whole place seem blank and monotonous. No wonder the detectives have anger management issues – I wouldn't want to work here.

There's a huge commotion as we walk into the CID – the Criminal Investigation Division – and Malfoy's derisive snarl and eye roll tell me without looking that his arch nemesis is involved. DI Smith is looking as fit as ever, though he's sporting a bandage round his head.

"Bastard took a bullet to the head and bloody lived. Fucking show off," Malfoy grumbles beside me and I take a second look at Smith, who is grinning as his congratulatory co-workers flank him. He catches me looking and shoots me an approving leer. Malfoy notices and turns a frankly unflattering shade of pink.

"Lucky chap," I murmur.

"Arsehole," counters Malfoy. He hastily drops his coat and briefcase at his desk and drags me off in the direction of the file room.

The filing system really is a mess. There are stacks upon stacks upon bursting boxes of files – it seems they haven't even bothered categorising and shelving anything in years.

"Don't you have computers for this?"

"Of course, you idiot, but we still keep hard copies of everything. And if someone is trying to keep something hush hush, they'll have deleted the computer files, now won't they? I'll look up our vics in the computer, and you can start going through that pile there."

Somehow I knew Malfoy would stick me with the crap job; poncy sod's probably scared of breaking a sweat. I grumble a bit, but I'm also just happy to have some one-on-one time with him for the first time in a long time.

"So how have you been?" I make conversation idly as I pull a stack of files into my lap and start cross-referencing them against Felicity's files.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean 'how have you been'? I haven't seen you in a while."

"Oh, fine. Just, you know, doing stuff. They're making their decision about the DCI promotion soon, so I was handling a lot of cases."

"Nothing weird?"

"Nope. Didn't need you, sorry."

His nonchalance sends my heart plummeting to my knees. I feel stupid for ever thinking of our working relationship as anything more social than that – Malfoy clearly isn't bothered about spending time with me. It's all about the cases. All about his promotion.

"Hey, um, isn't this your Tube jumper?" I hold up a file I've just come across, recognising the date only because, well, it's the day Malfoy and I shagged like bunnies and Teddy was turned into a werewolf. Malfoy makes grabby hands at me and I hand it over, sending the pile in my lap careening sideways. 

"Hmmm… says here she was definitely a suicide case. Though a few witnesses said she might have been pushed. She was nothing more than a junkie prostitute, so you tell me."

"Can I see?" 

Malfoy huffs dramatically and hands it over, as if there's nothing I could possibly add to this. I take my own look at the file, specifically Felicity's cross-referenced death report. 

"It says she had peculiar bruises on her wrists and torso. Could have been foul play."

"I doubt it."

Malfoy's done with – I check the label – Debbie Clarke, it seems, but I quietly sort it into the "suspicious" pile before going back to the files before me.

The silence that sits between us while I sort and Malfoy types an occasional name into the computer system is anything but comfortable. There's an elephant in the room, but I have no idea what colour it is. Does Malfoy remember? Have I been too obvious, and did Felicity's comment make things click for him? Is he resentful of having to be in my presence when he'd rather be out fighting crime alone and getting his promotion?

"So how's Mister Lupin?"

Or maybe he's thinking about the half-naked boy he found in my flat last month. Of course.

"Oh, he's fine. Spent some time with his grandmother, but he's back at school now."

Malfoy arches a brow, as if surprised by my level of detail.

"So you kept in touch, then? That's… interesting."

Okay, so the elephant is "Malfoy thinks I'm in an inappropriate relationship with a fifteen-year-old murder witness." I can't help it; I laugh.

"What?!" Malfoy says, affronted at my finding this funny.

"Malfoy, you just… you've completely lost the plot. Theodore Lupin – Teddy – is my godson. I've known him since he was a baby. We're not doing anything… sordid. That's why he was staying with me."

Malfoy is gaping like a fish. "Well... Well you could have mentioned that before!"

"I thought you wouldn't like someone so close to the victim involved in the case."

"Bollocks. You probably enjoyed making me think that…" he trails off and grumbles something I can't hear, then taps aggressively at the computer keys before exclaiming, "Aha!"

"What?"

"Our drowning victim was an ex-con. So was Felicity's not-spontaneous-combustion fellow."

"Oh? That's interesting. I might have found another one, as well. It's from six months ago. Petty thief showed up at casualty with all the symptoms of a major car accident, but no car, no external injuries. Says here his mum tried to file a legal case against some woman who'd hit him with her car… a year earlier. Claimed what killed him stemmed from that accident."

"That's bullshit."

"Yeah, obviously, but it falls under 'weird accident,' so I think it qualifies."

"Whatever, Potter. Put that in the 'maybe' pile. Just keep looking."

"I could use some help, you know. The computer is useless now, and I'll never get through all these files on my own."

"Fine, Potter," Malfoy huffs. "But you're buying me lunch. And some hand lotion."

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

We emerge from the file room three hours later with six suspicious files, several paper cuts between us and a brewing conspiracy theory. Malfoy seems less fussed since all the apparent victims were criminals, but I'm concerned – there's some heavy magic at work in all of these cases, and I don't really want to meet the dark wizard getting himself mixed up in this… necromancy of sorts.

"Where do you want to go for lunch, then, Malfoy?"

"I've been trying to think of the most expensive restaurant around here…"

"Hell no, Malfoy. Something cheap – I'm doing this out of courtesy. Technically you owe _me_ lunch. You watch it or I'll walk down to Sainsburys and get you a ready-made sandwich."

"Ugh, no. They're vile."

"Then come up with something under twenty quid but acceptable to your sensitive palette."

"Let me think about it. I have to go grab my coat. Wait here."

Malfoy disappears into the CID, and I relax down against the window ledge in the elevator bay. I smile to myself. It's good to be back in my routine with Malfoy – he orders me around, I do all the scut work, we banter back and forth about anything and everything. It's like my life has been on hold these last few weeks and now someone's hit "play" again. After our conversation about Teddy, I tried to drop several hints about my being interested in Malfoy, but he didn't take any of the bait. It's disappointing, but I'll take whatever I can, and our working relationship is a good one.

"Do you like Vietnamese food?" comes a voice out of nowhere, and I turn to find Zacharias Smith towering over me.

"Vietnamese food? Don't know. Never had it." I shrug.

"You should try it. I know a great place." The corner of his mouth quirks into a half-smile as his eyes look me up and down. As before, he seems to approve, and licks his lips suggestively.

I'm catching on quickly, and since I reckon I'll get nowhere with Malfoy romantically, might as well play with Smith a bit. "Oh? Where is it?"

"In your neighbourhood, actually. Called The Elephant Way." Though Smith's tone and, well, everything he's doing makes it clear what he's implying, he decides to make it official. "If you're free sometime this week, I'll take you."

"Are you asking me out on a date?" 

"Would you like me to be asking you out on a date? I'm very… flexible. Either way."

Hmmm…. A date, with Smith. It has potential, both for my own sexual gratification and for pissing Malfoy off. I throw up a coy smile.

"Well, we're not friends…"

"No, we're not." Zach returns my grin, taking my meaning. "Meet you at your place at eight tomorrow night and we can walk over?"

"Sure. Though how do you know where I live?"

"It's in your file. And in your ad. I was surprised to see it in _The Guardian_."

"As opposed to _The Sun_?"

"Yeah," he chuckles. "It's pretty kooky stuff, magic detective work… seems better suited to the rag that does front page stories on soap characters."

"Hey! I was very upset when Pauline died."

"Okay, Potter," Smith chuckles. He's got a very sexy smile, I observe. "You're a strange one."

"I'm only kidding, Smith." Though I'm really not.

"Oh, it's no problem. I was partial to Dirty Den, myself."

Ha! I'd had him pegged for an Eastenders fan – I'm pleased to see I was right. Damn show draws you in.

"Cheeky..." I drift off as Malfoy returns, pinched expression dominating his features as he faces down Smith. My first instinct is to laugh off the whole thing, explain to Malfoy, but isn't this the point? I need to move on, and as publicly as possible. Smith may not be the best choice, but he's available and interested. Irking Malfoy is a bonus.

"Yeah, well, I'll see you tomorrow night, Harry. Happy hunting, you two," Zach says, tipping his head to Malfoy as he takes off down the hallway.

I can hear Malfoy's teeth grinding. He mutters under his breath, "Smug bastard." But he drops the anger as he turns to me and inquires casually, "So, Potter, a date? With Smith?"

"Not really a date. We're checking out a restaurant near my place, no big deal." And I plan on getting laid by a Not Malfoy who I know is Not Malfoy – key to the plan. A plan reinforced by Malfoy's shrugging it off and coolly saying.

"Right then, lunch."

"Decided on a place, yet?"

"You'll see. Let's get out of here."

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Zacharias Smith is on my doorstep, looking positively shaggable. He locks eyes with mine as he crosses the threshold and I throw all previous dinner plans to the wind – I want an evening in with Mister Smith, so he can shag me out of my mind – and get Malfoy out of my mind, as well. I don't even bother with the niceties and put it right out there.

"How would you feel about staying in tonight?"

Zacharias smirks and looks me up and down – I'm not wearing anything particularly special, but I'm fairly fit for a thirty-two-year-old and I know it. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking, myself," he purrs, brushing his fingers teasingly down my side as he passes me. It's not going to take much to get me hard tonight, as with that, he's already got me halfway there. This is going to be brilliant – I'm actually going to have sex with someone that I _know_ is not Malfoy. And Smith is a pretty fit substitute.

"Nice place," he says, surveying my living room and office space before plunking himself down on my sofa. "I'm amazed you can afford it on a consultant's salary."

Wow, he's direct. "I have family money." I shrug it off. "Drink?"

"Scotch if you have it. Family money, eh? That would be nice. Some of us don't have that luxury."

Smith's tone zings with bitterness, and I raise an eyebrow to the wall as I pour his drink. I 'hmmm,' softly, as if agreeing with him. He continues.

"How long have you been doing this, then?" Smith happily accepts the scotch I hand him, and takes a sip.

"About two years. It's a new career direction for me."

"And before this?"

"Oh, I was in law enforcement. Not round here, though." I leave it at that, as having to explain how I used to work in the Auror Division of the Ministry of Magic is not exactly possible. I'd rather not have to Obliviate this one after sex.

"What about you? How long have you been at the Met?" I ask him. Good to pretend I care, so he's more inclined to stick around for the shagging.

"Fourteen years."

"Really? How old are you?" He looks about early thirties, so it's pretty hard to fathom such a long career.

"Thirty-two. Your age. Uni just wasn't for me, so I joined up when I was eighteen."

Sounds familiar – that's when I joined the Auror Department, though I didn't stick around as long as Smith has.

"I see why you want the DCI job, then. Fourteen years is a long time."

"Yes, it is," he says, taking a long draw of scotch and finishing with a wet smack of his lips. "You know Malfoy's only been at the Met eight years? But he's from a good family, so he's been fast-tracked. You know, family money and all. Daddy paid for it." I can feel the resentment coming off him in waves.

Now I see why Malfoy hates this bloke. He's aggressive, bitter and incredibly confrontational, and that's what I've got just from two minutes of alone time with him. All of which, incidentally, really do qualify him for the DCI position. I decide it's paramount to get him through his drink and on his back as soon as possible. This is about shagging, not liking each other.

"But you know how that is," he simpers and I can feel myself on the brink of snapping. 

He's making all sorts of leaps about my background, namely that I'm a rich Daddy's boy who's been flitting from career to career since I left my expensive prep school. Okay, so I have been flitting from career to career and I went to an expensive prep school, but I tend to think being an orphan who fought and won a war qualify me for my current life situation.

 _Shagging_ , I remind myself. We're going to fuck. It doesn't matter that I'm growing to hate him over the course of our conversation.

"Actually I wouldn't know," I respond coldly. "My dad's dead. Both my parents are, have been since I was one."

Smith doesn't look surprised by this at all. "I know. I looked you up, Potter. But I wanted to see if you would jump to Malfoy's defence. You two seem pretty close."

"We're not that close," I snap. I know I'm being defensive, but he's got me on edge.

"He didn't look too pleased that we were going out, that's for sure."

"Malfoy's just pissed off at me in general lately. I don’t think he gives a damn who I fuck."

"So we're going to fuck, then? I figured that's what you were implying, but I wasn't sure…"

"Oh, yes. Sooner rather than later, if that's okay with you." Might as well be direct.

"Sounds like a plan. You have condoms and lube?"

"Yeah, I just have to go get them." 

"Okay, but first…" he trails off, pulling me to him. His hands are in my shirt, one trailing down my abdomen to my crotch and the other gripping firmly at the nape of my neck as we kiss. His mouth tastes like peppermint, and I note that he is as aggressive in his kissing as he is in everything else. As he palms at my burgeoning erection, he tongues along my throat and sucks at my pulse point. I hear soft, sibilant whispers, but can't make out what the hell he's saying. Just as I'm getting into it, however, he pulls away.

"Condoms and lube, then?"

"Right." I hop up awkwardly, shuffling over to the stairs, hard-on leading the way.

When I'm half-way up the stairs, Zach calls up after me, "By the way, I'm a top," and I groan to myself. Figures. I go years without bottoming and then all I can get are adamant toppers. Not that I know who the last one actually _was_. I pull a box of condoms and some Astroglide from my bedside table drawer, but have second thoughts about the lube. It'll be faster to lube up via magic and I’m out of sight, so I pull my wand from my bedside table and strip down to my underwear. I try the spell one, two, three times and nothing. I try a Lumos. Nothing. Shit. Either I've suddenly turned Muggle or the magic grid is down again.

"If you're trying to use magic, it won't work." 

Smith's cold drawl shocks the hell out of me and I jump about a foot in the air, spinning around to face him. 

"What?"

"Your magic. It won't work. I fucked up last time, but I've got it under control now. It should be central to just your flat, won't draw any unwanted attention."

"I'm sorry… what? _You_ brought down the grid last time? I thought you were a Muggle…"

"If a Muggle is someone who can't do magic, no I'm not. I don't think you would exactly call me a wizard, either, but I can do magic. I'm learning, anyway."

I simply gape at him, probably looking ridiculous in nothing but my pants, but I'm confused as hell. There's also a creeping sense of terror bubbling up from the pit of my stomach. If Smith's admitting to what I think he's admitting to, I'm fucked. 

"Smith, I have no idea what you're getting at. That makes no sense."

"Yeah, I figured you'd be confused. I looked you up. The boy hero didn't even finish school. Not the brightest crayon in the box, are we?" He's baiting me again, only this time there's a more menacing intent behind it. "I wanted to fuck before the ball dropped, but you tried to use magic faster than I'd anticipated. I knew I should have waited until after the sex, but I couldn't chance it. Besides, I’m just too excited to see how you die."

My heart is thumping in my chest; I have to get out of here now, do something, call someone. Call Malfoy. 

I depend on my old Seeker reflexes to shoot past Smith and hurl myself down the stairs, taking them three steps at a time. My mobile is on my desk, and maybe, if I'm quick enough, I can grab it and get out the door. I've left my wand upstairs, but at least outside the blackout zone I can try some wandless defensive spells.

Smith's feet fall heavy behind me, he's a fit police detective and I've been away from sport too long, so it takes no time before he's caught up to me. I can feel him invade my body space, within an arm's length; I reach for the phone but he tackles me as my fingers brush the table's edge. I elbow him hard in the ribs and – yes – have just enough time to grab the phone, flip it open and enter Malfoy's speed dial code. But before I can press send, Smith is on me again; he grabs me by the arms and pulls me violently backwards and round, the phone flinging from my hand and skidding to a stop somewhere near the kitchen.

"Fuck!"

"Damn it, Potter." Zach pulls me over to the sofa and throws me down into the cushions. "I do have my gun, you know. That was pretty stupid." He pulls his weapon from his waistband and releases the safety. "Don't fucking try anything else. Who were you going to call, anyway? Malfoy?" I flinch, confirming his guess. "Thought so. It'd hardly be worth it anyway. You'd be dead by the time he got here."

"What the hell are you going to do to me?"

"Take your second chance. Or chances. I'm hoping I get two or three gos out of you. You're apparently a very lucky chap."

"What does that mean?" I want to know, but I also want to keep him talking as long as possible so I can figure out how the hell I can get out of this.

"Well, the book I found calls it the 'second chance curse,' which is catchy if a bit mundane. It basically means you have a near death experience and I take the extra lease on life from you. You die the way you would have originally and I can take a bullet to the head and live." My eyes flick to the bandage on his temple. He smirks. "Yes. This one is courtesy of your drowning victim. I was right chuffed that Malfoy got that case, but I did end up with the heroic save. The DCI promotion's mine."

"How many people have you done this to?" I can't believe this – this is dark, twisted magic, and Zach's barely a wizard!

"Oh, not quite a dozen. You make ten. Or possibly twelve or thirteen – how many times did you almost die?" He doesn't wait for an answer, but simply shrugs and barrels on. "They were all drug dealers, prostitutes and the like anyway. You're my first 'good person,' though I think that term is relative, don't you? You've done some pretty fucked up things in your life, Potter. You're not my first wizard, however. That little mishap the other week with the magic grid and that crazy fog shit? Some Death Eater I found cross-referenced in one of our files. Apparently his near-death experience involved those Dementor thingies. Scared the fuck out of me when they showed up."

"You're insane." 

"No, Harry, I'm not. I'm just one of the underprivileged youth of this country who discovered late in life certain talents and is using them to his advantage. I save people, too, Harry. When I can take a bullet or walk through a wall of fire, innocent people get a second chance. Second chances they deserve. As DCI I can really make a difference in this city, clean up the filth."

"That's no excuse to kill people! No one has the right to take things into their own hands, play God."

"But aren't you wizards kind of like that? You use magic to make your lives better, but you don't share it with anyone else who needs it. You can manipulate memories, force people to do anything you want, kill them with a word."

I feel the bile rise up from my stomach, choking me. I'm dealing with an unstable wizard hater… who can do magic, himself. 

"Okay, so let me get this straight. You're a wizard, you've been killing criminals and taking their second chances at life and you were here last week, Polyjuiced as Malfoy?"

"Yes. I figured you'd come round to that eventually. The sex was pretty fantastic, don't you think? Something about finding out you were an all powerful wizard made me so fucking horny – and you were all too happy to oblige when you thought it was Malfoy fucking you. Always thought you two bickered like an old married couple. Figures you'd be gagging for him."

"But why the hell were you Polyjuiced as him in the first place?"

"Knew I might get into a pinch, in which case framing Malfoy for murder or what have you would be just as effective as getting the DCI promotion by impressing the higher ups with my death defying police work. Those foggy fuckers came down on me faster than I could handle, and you were convenient." 

"So now you want my second chance, then? How do you plan to do it without magic?"

"Don't need it. I activated your rune before I cordoned off the area, and mine before I got here. I tested it on the Death Eater – a simple touch, a few words, and you're dead. I wonder how it will happen. There are so many options."

What happens next is all a blur of sensation and sound. Smith's warm fingers on my skin, sibilant whispered words, then a loud series of bangs that turn the words to a wet gurgle. I look down to see Smith convulsing on the floor, hands clasped hard to the wound on his shoulder, the blood running over and through his fingers. The smell of gunpowder hits my nose and I finally think to look to the door, where Malfoy is standing, chest heaving and a smoking gun in his hands.

"Fuck, Potter – are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine… Malfoy, what are you doing here?"

"You called me. And I heard that… psycho arsehole monologuing like some fucking Bond villain about killing you. I was in the neighbourhood, so I got here as fast as I could. In under ten minutes in fact. I think you owe me lunch," Malfoy titters weakly.

"Sure. Lunch," I answer, distracted. Smith is pawing at my feet, but I kick his hands away and move closer to Malfoy. "What do you mean you were in the neighbourhood? You live on the other side of town."

"I was grabbing dinner."

"Where?"

"Um, nowhere particular."

" _Malfoy_."

"The Elephant Way?"

"Malfoy were you trying to spy on my date?"

"No. Maybe. But it's a good thing I was here! He was going to kill you."

"Yeah, I know, but… oh, Christ." I look back down at Smith, who's gone white as a sheet and is making a series of funny gurgling sounds. "We can't let him die on my living room floor, Malfoy. I think you may have hit a major artery."

"I don't care if the bastard dies. I heard him confess to those other murders. He's a fucking psycho."

"You don't think it will look weird if your competition for DCI dies here, in my office?"

"Good point."

I crouch down beside Smith and feel for a pulse. It's still there, though faint. My fingers come away bloody. "Smith!" He stirs just slightly. " _Smith_. You have to lift the magic blackout. I can't heal you unless you do."

"Nnnggghhhhh," Smith moans, then slurs out a short series of Latin phrases. I can feel the air frizzle with magic and I Summon my wand straight away.

"Accio wand!" It zooms down the stairs and into my palm. Malfoy's eyes are bugging out of his head at this and I think _fuck it_. There's no way to hide all this from him, not after he's heard my entire conversation with Zach over the phone. The Ministry can just suck it up, as far as I'm concerned. 

My healing skills are patchy at best, but I manage to clot the blood and do some elementary repairs to the skin. Smith's pulse picks up a bit, enough to satisfy me that he'll make it to hospital. Once Malfoy is over his amazement of watching me fuse together Smith's skin, he thinks to call for back up.

Technically I should Firecall or owl the Ministry, but I just can't imagine dealing with them tonight. It's bad enough that half the Met is about to come down on my flat. Better make sure Snape stays out of sight.

This is going to be a long night, for all the wrong reasons.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The commotion downstairs gets to me after a while, so I head upstairs to rest. I've not been lying down five minutes when Snape pops up.

"You're alive then," he drawls matter-of-factly.

"Yep. Still breathing. Why? Are you glad, Snape?"

"Oh, certainly not, Mister Potter. You are the bane of my existence, such that it is. I'm simply happy I don't have to deal with Longbottom now."

"Neville's not so bad, you know. But I'll take that as a compliment."

Snape offers a weak, non-committal smile.

"How long do you think these law enforcement idiots will be invading our space? They've tried to break into the workshop twice already."

"Not much longer, I don't think. Smith's gone off to casualty and they've already taken my statement. I think they're questioning Malfoy now."

"Ah, yes, Malfoy. The knight in shining armour."

I flush. "He has pretty good timing, yes. Thing is, he says I called him, but I definitely didn't hit the send button on my mobile. I don't see how he could have-"

I cut off as Snape clears his throat and pointedly looks in the other direction.

"Wait. Snape, did you…? But I thought you couldn't touch anything!"

"If I concentrate all my energies I can exert a minimal force. Enough to push a button, for instance."

"So _that's_ how you get into my porn!"

"Calm down. I don't actually watch it – I, unlike you, do not have an interest in naked men. But I do like how frustrated you get seeing your collection disturbed."

"Bastard," I say, but for one of the first times, it's meant jovially. "This means you saved my life, though. Which means you must actually _like_ me," I chide him, eliciting a pained expression.

"Hardly. I just prefer you to other people. Namely Longbottom."

"Of course." We both know I don't believe him.

"Enough of this blather. You're filthy. You have blood smeared all over you and your bed sheets. Clean yourself up."

I take in my appearance, as well as the soiled bedspread. He's right – I was in the direct line of Malfoy's shot, and I have residue from Smith's gunshot wound on my neck, arms and t-shirt. 

"I'm going to shower. If they finish before I'm done, can you discreetly tell Malfoy that I'll talk to him later? I have no intention of Obliviating him this time, so there's no harm."

"You're going to violate the Ministry policy?"

"Yes. At this point, Obliviating him will cause brain damage, if I haven't already. I'm sick of lying to him."

"So be it." With that Snape disappears through the floorboards, presumably to mope in the workshop.

I strip off my blood spattered clothes, leaving a trail behind me into the bathroom. I click the water heater on and fasten a towel round my waist whilst I wait for it to heat enough for a nice, long shower. My head hurts like hell and I pull off my glasses, realising as I hold them up to the light and squint that I've got tiny flecks of blood on them, too. I have to wet them with some saliva before I can get them off, and even then my glasses are left rather streaky. But they're usually in a pretty pathetic state, so I shrug and put them back on. When I look up, Malfoy is standing at my bathroom door, mouth hung agape and hand raised to rap at the doorframe.

"Um, hi." He smiles stiffly. "I was wondering if you were okay. You're, um, in a towel." He points down at my waist and I squirm under his gaze. I make double sure that the towel is tied securely, and even then, I keep one hand gripping the edge so it doesn't fall.

"Yeah, I was going to take a shower." 

Way to state the blatantly obvious, Potter. Zero grace under pressure, as usual.

"Oh, right." Malfoy turns to go and I mentally smack myself. I don't want the conversation to end here.

"Wait, Malfoy!" He turns, quizzical expression on his face, and my heart does a back flip. "Thanks for checking on me. And, um, saving my life."

"I hardly saved your life, Potter," Malfoy scoffs.

" _Now_ you're starting to be modest? Malfoy, you definitely did. Smith was going to kill me, no question. You heard it."

"Yeah, I did. Didn't understand half of it, but I definitely heard it." Malfoy is looking anywhere but at me, instead taking a sudden interest in my bathroom wall. He picks at a piece of peeling wallpaper over the light switch as if it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. 

There's something he's not saying and I try to think of everything Smith and I talked about that Malfoy would have heard, beyond the evil monologuing. Well, there's all the magic stuff, and of course the part about the sex… oh.

"About me and Smith…"

"I'm new to this whole magic thing, Potter," he interrupts me, colouring, "but I swear you said that he had done something to himself to look like me?" 

"Um, yes, he did. It's complicated."

Malfoy stops drumming his fingers on my countertop, head snapping up to look at me, eyes alive with a bit of fight, curiosity. _There's_ my Malfoy, I can't help thinking, and I crack a small smile as he explodes. "Well, try and explain it to me, cause I'm honestly curious. And you're going to have to give me the layman's version of all this magic stuff. I'm a bit floored that it's all real, though at the same time… no matter. Do you seriously live with a ghost?"

"Yes?" I reply hesitantly. How to put this the best way... "The short version is that magic is real, and that I'm a wizard. Kind of what it says on the box, really. Harry Potter, Wizard…" I chuckle at my own joke; Malfoy just looks to me for further explanation. "And Zacharias, err, Smith… he used this stuff called Polyjuice, yeah? Let's you turn into anyone else for an hour at a time, as long as you have some of their hair or something. You heard his explanation – he panicked and used it to get in here."

"And you had sex with him. Me. Or you thought he was me."

My face heats and I clear my throat nervously. It doesn't help that I'm stood here in nothing but a towel, and just thinking back on being with Malfoy, nay – Zacharias, is getting me a bit hard. I shift uncomfortably.

"I definitely thought he was you, yes. But I didn't think it could happen again, and he was pretty convincing-"

"What do you mean 'couldn't happen _again_ '? Exactly how many times have we had sex?" Malfoy takes a step toward me, and I hope to hell that he left his gun downstairs.

"Err… twice? They were both total accidents, I swear." 

"Accidents? How do you _accidentally_ have sex with someone? Twice."

"Well, the first time you weren't in your right mind, and I thought it was the alcohol. And the second there was no way for anyone to influence you magically, so it didn't even occur to me that it might be Smith impersonating you."

Malfoy eyes me dubiously and takes another step forward. My bathroom isn't the big; one more step and he'll have me cornered against the toilet. "How did he put it? That you were 'gagging' for me?"

Fuuuuuuucccccccccck. My knees hit the back of the toilet bowl. There's a moment where I nearly fall over, but Malfoy manages to grab my arm, keeping me upright. 

"He was exaggerating," I deflect, tittering nervously. His fingers on my arm seem to burn into my skin. 

"Oh." He drops my arm, sounding disappointed. "I just thought, since the ghost suggested…"

"Snape? What did he say?"

"Just said I should come up here and talk to you. I was hoping…"

"Yes?"

"Fuck, Potter. Can we stop dancing around this? I'm not stupid. You've had sex thinking it was me _twice_ , which I still don't exactly get, but it clearly means you're not averse to… you know. And I'm definitely not…"

"Not what?"

"Averse. To sex. With you. Shit." Malfoy leans against the counter and brings a hand up to rub at his temple "This all sounded better in my head," he groans. 

In every metaphorical, ultra-comical sense, my jaw hits the floor. _Now_ Malfoy mentions this? After how many years of working together? But, oh God, that's all my dick needs to know; it twitches against my thigh with interest.

"Really? You want to? I never thought… though clearly I did, but you're always going on about women!"

Malfoy looks at me sideways. "It's called over-compensating, Potter. I was hoping you'd take a bloody hint."

"How is that a hint?" 

Considering my track record with Malfoy, I'm sceptical. I should question him, but my mind goes blank when I try to think of applicable questions. So I say the first thing that pops into my head. "What's your full name?"

"My… what?" Malfoy narrows his eyes. "You're barmy, Potter."

"Malfoy, just indulge me, please."

Malfoy stands up, doing that annoying height thing again, and crosses his arms over his chest. "Draco William Malfoy." I ignore the way he is surveying me like I'm an escaped mental patient.

"Okay, good. Though why you don't use your middle name, I'll never know. Where are you from?"

"Surrey. And oi – I like my name."

I barrel on. I'm horny, and don't want to make the same mistake three times. What the hell would I know about him that no one else would, though? I'll have to stall until I can come up with something better. "What's your mother's name?"

"Narcissa."

" _Really_? Well, that explains 'Draco,' then."

"Potter! Enough with the pop quiz – I'm me, I swear. Christ. It's a miracle you only slept with not-me twice, as it seems you're not only an idiot, but a shit detective. _Twice_ ," he grumbles under his breath.

"To be fair, the first time you were you, just not in your right mind. And the second there was no magic, so I was sure it couldn't be Imperius, I just didn't think of Polyjuice. And you and Smith are kind of alike…"

"We are not fucking alike!"

"Well, you're both serious drinkers, aggressive, argumentative and curse like sailors. It's an easy mistake to make."

"Fuck off, Potter." Malfoy heads for the door again.

"Malfoy, I'm sorry, I really am," I sigh and he pauses at the door. "Do you know how much it's fucked with my head that each time I thought I was having this intense thing with you, and it turned out it wasn't you at all? I know I'm an idiot, but I just wanted you to want me… I ignored anything that seemed out of the ordinary. So I have to be sure this is for real."

"Of course it's for real, Potter." Malfoy turns, setting me with a determined look. "No magic, no crazy fucking shit. Now I want you to shag me until I can't see straight."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Frankly I've been staring at you in that towel these past ten minutes and my trousers are starting to chafe."

Oh god. Say something sexy, Harry.

"Then, by all means, take them off. Care to join me?" I indicate the shower. Again. Jesus.

Okay that sucked. I suck. Though I wouldn't mind sucking…

"You're a twat, Potter," Malfoy laughs. "But I'd love to. I'm all gross and sweaty from running from the restaurant to here."

"Yeah? Well, I'm covered in splatter from your little act of heroism. Not the first time I've been covered in some of Smith's bodily fluids, and I have to say both times have been thoroughly unpleasant."

"Do I want to know what that means?"

"Probably not."

I turn on the spray as Malfoy strips off behind me. My heart is thumping in my chest – we're actually going to do this – and the palpitations only increase when I turn and see Malfoy naked before me. Sure, I've seen him naked before, but it's getting me twice as hard taking in the _willing_ body and mind. It's the eyes that do it – he's devouring me with them, but it's different this time. Not feral or aggressive, just… Malfoy. Testy, cynical, oft-clueless and unwittingly irresistible Malfoy. 

The warm water feels incredible, and I sigh heavily as it washes away the sweat and grime of the evening's activities. I almost forget Malfoy is in here with me until I hear him gently clear his throat. 

"So far you're not proving a very gracious host, Potter," he says, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the far wall of the bath.

"It's not a dinner party, Malfoy. Here, you can have a turn now."

"Thanks." We shuffle awkwardly past each other and he moves under the showerhead. 

This is decidedly unsexy for a romantic encounter, so I take the initiative. Malfoy tilts his head back into the spray just as I'm going in for a kiss, so my lips connect with his jaw instead. Improvising, I kiss my way down the stretch of his neck, ghosting my lips over his collarbone as my fingers slide down his abdomen. Malfoy moans as I take a nipple in my mouth, swirling my tongue round the tip. That's more like it. 

His cock is already at half mast, I feel it twitch against my hand as it drifts lower. His breath hitches as I take him into my hand and slide back his foreskin, circling the tip with my thumb, kneading his balls with the other hand, until he is fully hard. Malfoy's breathing becomes laboured as I jerk him off lazily, kissing and suckling the skin on his chest and neck.

"Christ, Potter, you're good at this."

"Glad you think so," I murmur, flattening my tongue out against his neck and laving at this Adam's apple.

"Practise this on the kid, hmmm?"

"Malfoy, I told you. He's my godson. No." I smack him playfully on the bum and he responds by pinching me, hard, in the side.

"Ow!"

"Serves you right, Potter. I'm not five. No spanking."

"Duly noted," I laugh, giving his prick a rather rough squeeze and twist and Malfoy nearly buckles at the knees.

"Fuck! Prat… oh, Christ…"

He's leaning into me now, barbs forgotten, his head resting against my shoulder as he ruts into my hand. I trail open mouthed kisses along his neck, burying my nose the wet tendrils of hair curling around his ear. Malfoy whimpers at the dual sensation of the water pelting against his back and my hand milking his cock. I can tell he's nearly there, but I don't want him to come just yet. I'll not let my first sex with Real Malfoy be an awkward quickie in the shower. 

"You clean yet?" I mumble against his sweet skin. 

"Hmmm… don't be impatient Potter. We have all night." He places a firm hand on my arse and pulls me closer to him, trapping my hand and his cock between our bodies.

"Don't want you to come yet."

"Don't worry about me. I have _plenty_ of stamina…"

He pushes me back until I'm flush against the shower wall, nowhere to go as he grinds against me. 

"Mmmnnnn, fuck," I moan as he finds my prick and takes it in hand. He is hesitant at first, experimenting with different strokes until he finds the one that makes me curse low under my breath and grind into his hand.

"Potter… this feels oddly familiar." Hips stilling, he stops, looking at me quizzically. "Did we have sex? In your living room, against a wall?"

"Um, yes?"

"That explains a lot. I've been dreaming about it. It felt so real, but it was like an out-of-body experience, at the same time." 

"Yeah, that would be because there was a wizard in your head manipulating you into doing it."

Considering the gravity of the situation, the last thing I expect is for him to laugh, but he does, breaking into a sly grin.

"That explains why I was doing the fucking."

"Sorry?" 

"Topping you, I think it's called? I always imagined it the other way around. You know," he squeezes my cock suggestively, "you inside of me…"

"Inside you? Fantasies?" I stutter like an idiot. What can I say – I'm gobsmacked. And really turned on.

"Oh, yes. I had only thought about it once or twice before, but recently I've been dreaming about you all the time…" Malfoy trails a hand up my abdomen, stopping to circle the pad of his thumb around my nipple. He ducks his head down and replaces his thumb with a tongue.

"That would be you breaking through the Memory Charms," I answer guiltily, but glaze past it as readily as I can before Malfoy can get caught up in the details. He's sucking at my jaw now, hand flying over my dick as I try to reciprocate.

"I want you to fuck me."

Oh _God_. If he keeps talking like that while he's gripping my cock just so, I'm going to come long before I can get my dick anywhere near his arse. Which makes me think…

"Um, Malfoy… have you been with a man before? Knowingly, I mean. You and I… um, yeah."

Malfoy flushes red, though perhaps it's the steam from the shower. "I've never had someone's cock inside me, no. I, err, went to Spunk once or twice after we busted a prostitution ring last year, but I did all the fucking…"

Figures that around the time I _stop_ going to Spunk, Malfoy starts.

"Wow, that's… so this is like your first time."

"Technically, yes. Though I have been with _tonnes_ of women, trust me. _Tonnes_."

Over-compensating much? I quirk a brow but say nothing.

"But you really want to bottom for me? Are you sure?"

Malfoy frowns and drops his hand from my dick. "Of course. Stop coddling me, for fuck's sake. I've watched porn before, you know. I get what it entails."

"Then we should definitely take this out of the shower. Sex standing up is fun, for sure, but not the best introduction to cock. Water's a crappy lube, too." I follow Malfoy's eyes to a bottle of shower gel. "So's shower gel."

"You seem to be quite the expert. Been round the block a few times?" Malfoy says wryly as I turn off the shower and grab each of us a towel. I catch him worrying his lip as we step out of the tub, and it occurs to me that he's probably feeling a bit nervous. We may be the same age, but I have way more sexual experience with the same sex, so I imagine for Malfoy it's like being a virgin all over again. I try to reassure him, put him at ease.

"It's not as much as you think, Malfoy, contrary to the last month's example. It's been a banner month for Harry Potter's sex life."

"Ugh, Potter – you refer to yourself in third person entirely too much. Get over yourself, will you?" Malfoy deflects, moving in front of me into the bedroom.

"Oh, come on, Malfoy," I tease, grabbing him by the hips and pulling him flush up against me. "Harry Potter wants his cock inside you." I drop my voice to a husky whisper. "Harry Potter wants to fuck you until you scream." I kiss the nape of his neck and shuffle us into the bedroom.

"You're not cute, Potter." Malfoy tries to sound biting, but I can hear the smile in his voice.

"Hmmm, how should we do this?" I wonder as we stand over my bed. "Well, first things…" Picking up my wand from the side table, I say a Cleaning Charm to get rid of the blood smudges on the bedspread, much to Malfoy's amazement.

"Wow, that's… handy. What else can you do with that thing?"

"A lot of things… though a lot of it is mundane, just short cuts for making everyday things easier."

Malfoy turns and narrows his eyes at me. "Is that how you get everywhere so quickly? 'Cause I swear no one can get across London that fast."

I laugh. "It's called Apparation. It's a nifty trick."

"Cheater. You owe me lunch."

"I owe you more than that." I pull him to me, kissing him softly on the lips. "Do you want to lie down? On your back for starters, I think."

Malfoy obliges, getting himself comfortable on the bed while I figure out exactly how I want to do this. There's no time for a blow job, I decide – Malfoy is close, and I don't want to push him over the edge too soon, no matter what he says about his stamina. We're both in our thirties, so _come on_. It doesn't pass Malfoy's notice that I've bypassed his cock, and he whines piteously as I kiss the base of it, then move to suckling his balls in my mouth. This seems to redeem me in Malfoy's eyes.

"Ugh, yes. That's just how I like it. God, blokes do this so much better," Malfoy moans above me, and I take a chance, hoping he'll like my next move, too. I continue the path downwards, licking the space between his arse and balls, dipping briefly in the vicinity of his arsehole.

"Jesus fuck! What was that?"

"Rimming. Err, some men really like it," I titter nervously. "I can show you, if you like. I, um, enjoy doing it actually." 

Malfoy seems to contemplate this. "Rimming…?" He sounds unsure, but definitely curious. I'm sure I've got a shit-eating grin on my face – oh the irony – but I can't help it. This is an opportunity to defile Malfoy in such a deliciously dirty way, make him writhe and moan and beg for my cock and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it.

"Okay! On your stomach, then. Trust me, I think you'll like it."

Reluctantly, Malfoy turns over, arse displayed temptingly before me. Much as I love Malfoy's cock, it's nice to see his arse for a change, and I take a moment to survey a view I've previously not had the pleasure of. 

"Is this it?" Malfoy drawls, and I only just resist the urge to playfully smack his bum for his insolence.

I can't see Malfoy's face, but the way he's wriggling about, I can tell he's anxious about agreeing to this mystery kink. Best to just _show_ him what I'm talking about, as I'm sure as soon as he knows how amazing it feels to have someone lick you there he'll be sold on it. That's certainly how I discovered the pleasures of rimming, and I probably wouldn't have let anyone near my arse with their tongue if I'd been told the definition ahead of time. I waste no time, parting his arsecheeks with both hands and drawing my tongue across his puckered entrance. On my second pass, I wiggle my tongue just so, and Malfoy let's out a screeching, "Fuck!"

"That's rimming," I inform him cheekily, nipping at one buttock before greedily going to town.

I've always enjoyed doing this, and Malfoy's making it a real feast for the senses, moaning and letting loose all sorts of curses, deriding me for doing it, deriding himself for liking it, plus there's the taste, smell and feel of it as well.

"God, Potter, if you don't stop, I'm going to come," he groans and I reluctantly back off. He has a point, though, and much as I'd love to tongue fuck his arse until he falls apart, we're aiming to get a bit more done. He needs to be properly prepared, and for his first time, a bit of saliva and a thorough rimming won't do it.

I grab the bottle of lube from my bedside table, flinching at the memory of what I'd taken it out for. Had things gone differently, and, you know, Smith hadn't been just this side of crazy and evil, I might have been the one writhing underneath a skilled tongue. Crazy or not, Smith had an amazing tongue… I shake away and thought, concentrating on Malfoy. This is definitely much better than anything I could have ever done with Smith, or anyone else. At least I won't need the condoms – spells are better for that stuff, anyway – so I fling them back into their drawer and move back over to Malfoy, Astroglide at the ready.

Malfoy's arse clenches tight around me as I slide one lubricated finger slowly inside, touching my other hand to his back in a calming gesture. "You okay?" I ask, gently sliding my finger in and out of his arse once, and then again.

"Mmmnnnpf, yeah," Malfoy groans, pushing back on my finger and grunting. "Think I can take more."

"You'd better," I laugh. "My dick isn't this small."

"Fuck off," Malfoy grinds out.

"Trying to," I reply archly, removing my finger from his arse and lubing up a second. There's a lot more resistance as I try to manoeuvre both fingers in, but Malfoy seems determined to get on with things, and when he pushes his hips down against my hand, they pop in easily. 

"Bloody buggering Christ on a mother fucking cross," Malfoy bites out at the penetration and I wince in sympathy. We've all been there. I lean over Malfoy's back and plant a soft kiss across his shoulder blades, stilling my fingers until he's had some time to adjust. After a minute, Malfoy let's out an exhausted, "Just do it, Potter."

"Call me Harry," I correct him. Why has it only just occurred to me that we're still using last names? We're about to do something pretty fucking intimate, and even the boys I used to meet at the clubs would be on a first name basis with me. I've always wanted Malfoy to call me Harry, but he's kept up the line of business formality and insisted on keeping with the surnames.

"Fine, Harry." There's a warm tone to his voice, though he makes a point to add a snappish, "Get on it with it."

After a lot of cursing, moaning and exhaustive finger work, I've got Malfoy loosened up to the point where I've got him bouncing rather happily on my two fingers, barking at me to get a move on and fuck him.

"Right then," I say, withdrawing my fingers and smacking him lightly on the hip. "Turn over again. I want to do this face to face."

"Like a girl?" he chides and I roll my eyes.

"Don't be an idiot, Malfoy. It's better this way." And it means I can look him in the eyes while we're doing it.

"If I'm going to call you Harry, you can call me Draco," he says.

"Okay. Draco." I bet I look like an idiot, I'm grinning so widely, but I don't care. _Draco_ and I are going to have sex. Really must figure out how he got stuck with that God awful name sometime, though.

Whilst Malfoy gets himself positioned on his back, I lube up my cock, pumping myself back up to full hardness. I wish I could say I've stayed hard through the foreplay, but the fact is I'm no longer a teenager. The concentration it takes to prepare someone? Just isn't that sexy. I settle in between Draco's legs, and we both hiss as our cocks slide against each other.

Malfoy locks eyes with mine and, fuck, it's like we're fucking already for all the intensity I meet there. I duck down and capture his mouth in a kiss, forgetting at first where I've just had my mouth and tongue, but Malfoy doesn't seem to care. In fact, he moans deep in his throat and pulls me closer to him. Fuck, he's _dirty_. My cock twitches at the thought – I need to fuck Malfoy soon or I won't make it. I use my free hands to bend his legs at the hips, canting his arse up to a better angle for my cock.

"Wait, wait!" Malfoy breaks away from the kiss and I look at him, puzzled. He grins. "I know this part," he says proudly, manoeuvring his legs so they're perched atop my shoulders. "Seems I learned…something… from porn," he pants and I laugh.

"Good job. Now you ready?"

"Hell, yes, Harry. Get on with it."

Seems Draco's a pushy bottom, then. As long as he doesn't insist on coming on my back, we're good.

My cock practically jumps out of my hand as I try to position myself at Malfoy's entrance; seems I was a bit overzealous with the lube. Using my drier hand to steady Malfoy's hip, I slowly push my cock against his hole. I'm shaking from the exertion of suspending my weight above him and my prick screams at me to forget caution and quickly bury myself inside him. _Slow and steady wins the race_ , I remind myself. Though I can't help wondering how the hare did in the sack – lots of orgasms for him, I'm sure. Malfoy grunts softly as I breach the initial ring of muscle and then the lube and suction do the rest.

"Oh, fuck!" I cry out as Malfoy's arse seems to pull me in. My arms buckle, and I fall against Malfoy's chest, panting. 

"Ugh, you're heavy, Potter. And big."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Though I like to think I'm average. And, err, sorry," I babble, picking myself back up and swivelling my hips experimentally. The way Malfoy throws his head back into the pillow, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows a moan, tells me he's good to go. Excellent.

There's no particular rhythm at first, just me making small moves to get us going. Malfoy closes his eyes and bites his lip, worrisome were it not for the fact that he's also making intermittent sounds of pleasure at the back of his throat. I shift to longer, faster strokes when I think he's ready, and his eyes flutter open until they lock with mine. Malfoy's entire body goes tense as I spark against his prostrate and he lets out a guttural whine, then pulls me down for a kiss. 

I'm fucking him in earnest now, as we kiss, lick and suck at each other's sweaty skin. Malfoy tastes like my soap and I don't know why this in particular turns me on, but it does.

It's intense, but for all the right reasons. Not because "Malfoy" is pounding me into a wall, or whispering dirty things in my ear. Just because Malfoy – the real Malfoy – and I are sharing something. I can't put my finger on what, and even if I tried, it would come out sounding pretty lame, I'm sure. I just accept that happy feeling that bubbles up inside me as we move together, sharing… whatever this is.

I can't hold on much longer, and Malfoy seems to agree. When I look down, I find him jerking himself frantically, bearing down on my cock so hard I can hear his teeth grinding.

"God, Harry, so close… Gnnguh."

"Fuck," I answer him, grabbing firm hold of his hips and slamming up into him with all my strength. We come in quick succession, though I'm not paying attention to who's first, until Malfoy flops back, legs splayed on either side of me, and I fall boneless on top of him.

"So… that it?"

"Oi, what do you mean, 'that it'?" I'm flopped over him, arms pretty much useless, so I knee him in the thigh weakly.

"Ow! Christ, Potter, lay off the violence. It's fucking brilliant, okay?" He flushes. "Now get off me. You're heavy."

I roll of him, settling onto my back. "Please, I weigh less than you do."

"Yeah, because you don't eat. Comic Relief probably has to send you a care package every year."

"Prat," I mutter without bite. 

"Oh, you bloody love me, Potter. Err, Harry. That's going to take some getting used to."

I turn my head away so he can't see me flushing. _Love_ is a bit much at this point, but I can't help the way my stomach flutters at the prospect.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Draco." I clear my throat nervously. "With Smith banged up, this means the DCI job is yours," I point out, changing the subject. "You won't be working with me anymore." I can't keep the disappointment from creeping in.

"I could hire you full time, bring you into the CID. Shag you in the file room, et cetera," he says, nipping playfully at my shoulder.

"I don't think I want to be a cop," I answer honestly.

"Then you could just be my boyfriend." Malfoy scoots over, laying his head against my chest, and he says it so softly I can barely hear it.

"What? Your boyfriend? Isn't that moving a bit… fast?"

He cranes his head up to look at me, expression critical. "Potter, I've been working with you for two years, dancing around this shagging thing for at least half that time. We're behind schedule, as far as I'm concerned. And what's wrong with being a cop?"

"Nothing, Malfoy. You are a noble and inspiring breed. But I've been that route before, and had enough of the bureaucratic bullshit it entails when I was an Auror."

"Aura whatsit?"

"Auror. They catch dark wizards. I'll explain more of that later. I have to get you vetted with the Ministry first, take you off the automatic Obliviation list."

"Cause I'm your boyfriend now, right?"

"Yes, yes, because you're my boyfriend. And because I'm afraid if I perform any more Memory Charms on you I'll leave permanent brain damage. Though it's arguable that I haven't already…ow!"

"Wanker," he goads me, his expression turning serious. "You know, you're not off the hook on that whole making me forget magic thing. It really bothers me, actually."

"I know – I hated doing it." I've been dreading this conversation. "It's one of the things about my world I've never been particularly comfortable with. But it's the Ministry's policy that we Obliviate Muggles who acquire some knowledge of our world. I tried to get you on the safe list more than once, but they rejected my appeal."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I've seen some nasty memory spell damage, and I didn't want to see that happen to you. It's why I refuse to do it anymore. Removing tonight, removing the details of this last case… it could send you to the loony bin."

"Oh, I feel like I'm already there," Malfoy chuckles.

"Come on, Malfoy. This can't come as a complete shock to you. I don't Obliviate everything, and half the time I don't think you _really_ accept my bullshit explanations."

He shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. It was just too much to admit that all of this was real. I don't like the idea of there being things out there that I can't defend myself against."

"Don't worry, Malfoy, I'll protect you!" I puff my chest out and give my best hero pose, making him laugh.

"You're such a dork." He pulls me down into a searing kiss.

"But, seriously." I pull away from him to look him in the eyes. "It is a pretty scary world out there, but I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

"Don't go declaring your undying love for me or anything, Potter," Malfoy chides, colouring. "Oh, and there's another thing that Smith mentioned I was wondering about."

"Huh? What?"

"Something to do with you being an all-powerful wizard?"

"Oh, yeah." I shrug. "I saved the world. Err, wizarding world. No big deal."

Draco falls out of the bed with a resounding thunk and string of curses and I laugh.

_Case Closed_

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: a minor making sexual advances at an adult (not followed through on)
> 
> Trigger warning: Dubious consent. In two instances, Harry thinks he is having sex with Draco Malfoy; however in one instance a third party is using an Imperius on Draco, and in another he is being impersonated (using Polyjuice).


End file.
